


Exhale

by ryttu3k



Category: Subnautica (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Planet, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fear of Death, Illnesses, M/M, Mutation, Muteness, POV Alternating, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, Survival, Survivor Guilt, Telepathy, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-26 06:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k
Summary: Ryley Robinson is running out of time. Contending with an alien bacterium, facing death, his path crosses with another survivor. Now, they might have a chance - if they can stay alive long enough.





	1. Chapter 1

Ryley Robinson is not having a very good day.

And considering the general state of his days of recent weeks, that's saying something.

He's sick. Can feel it in his joints, in the way his skin feels tight on his bones. He had woken up with a fever, so dizzy and nauseous he had barely been able to stagger to the filtration machine for a bottle of water, the greenish blisters on his hands gleaming dully in the night-mode lights and splattered with the blood and pus and glowing green stuff he's been coughing up for the last day or two.

(He's not thinking about what it is. Has been trying to avoid thinking about it since hearing Bart Torgal's last words, since Danby's; since the enforcement platform.)

But he had known, that morning, that there wasn't much time left. He had pulled his gloves on and left for the strange underwater river he had found the other day, and he had started to search for the facility his PDA had told him was there.

He had found the facility, alright. He had found the data downloads, the note saying, _Treatment procedure: Unknown._ The note mentioning death tolls in the twelve-digit figures. The note outlining the contagion profile, that he was already in the second stage, that it would be swiftly continued by ‘unpredictable alterations to biological structure', and then a complete shutdown of his body and a swift and painful death.

In short, he's dying.

He's been dying, slowly but surely, since landing on the damn planet. Whether from starvation or dehydration, or drowning, or the creatures that live here, or the illness, he knows his chances of survival have been in the single digits since the Aurora had split open.

But this, the words in his PDA saying that if he does nothing, if he doesn't find a cure for something that's killed over a hundred billion people, if he doesn't find a miracle, he'll die - that despite everything he's done to stay alive since he had first hit the water, he's _still_ going to die...

He's not having a very good day.

The caves are eerily quiet as he numbly pilots the Seamoth out of of the facility, using the beacons to lead him back out to the main branch of the river. He pauses by the bones, disquieted by the new knowledge he has of it, the cracked skull frighteningly clear now.

"I know how you feel," he mutters to the skull, rubbing his temples with a wince, carefully avoiding the blisters clustered there and around his eyes.

Maybe he should just go back to his base, harvest some plants. There are enough natural poisons on this planet. See if the fabricator can make him something. Go to sleep and let things happen naturally.

This is, more or less, when the leviathan attacks.

Ryley Robinson is not having a very good day, but he does decide, very quickly, that he'd rather not die right here and now. Spitting words that are not Alterra-approved, he yanks the controls hard to the right, the entire Moth shuddering as it barely grazes the glowing blue leviathan.

It screams, and he nearly takes his hands off the controls to clamp them over his ears, the sound shuddering down his nerves and making his already pulsing headache even worse. His eyes hurt, his ears hurt; he's shaking from adrenaline and fatigue as he tries to aim the little vehicle, tries to stop it tumbling in the wake of the huge leviathan's movements.

Glowing cyan blue. Four eyes. No pincers, not like the ones near the Aurora, but a long, sinuous body topped with a hammer head.

It would almost be pretty if it wasn't currently screaming and pulling back to strike again.

It comes in fast, and Ryley acts first, thinks later; smacks the canopy open button and launches himself up. The leviathan just misses the ends of his flippers as its immense head smacks the Seamoth and crushes it into confetti against the rock.

Ryley is eight hundred metres beneath the surface, his transportation destroyed, in a twisting cavern full of dead ends, predators, and acidic saline pools, with fifteen minutes of air left and an angry leviathan snapping at his heels. He's starting to think he may not have much say in the matter of dying.

It launches itself again and he twists out of the way - too slow, not quite enough. It doesn't hit him head on, just clips him, but it's rather bigger than he is and he goes tumbling through the water, and the back of his head strikes the rock hard.

Stars burst in front of his eyes.

His vision is going grey around the edges. He's struggling to move, sluggish, uncontrolled. There are spots in his field of view, white and gold and shimmery, the blue swirl of the leviathan coiled around them and the glowing white points of the strange vegetation of the area forming constellations.

It's pretty, as last views go.

Ryley is just conscious enough to note that one of the stars is, in fact, more literally shaped like a star, four long points and one short one, superimposed over the blue of the leviathan. And then all he can see is black.

 

He's warm.

Not the burn of fever, but _warm_. Comfortable, lying on something soft and something soft over him. His feet and hands are bare and the collar of the reinforced dive suit loosened; Ryley forces his eyes open and finds his gear piled neatly on a table.

Fins and gloves, rebreather and air tank. His PDA rests on top, tool belt is neatly coiled beside them; the habitat builder is detached and lying a little apart. His things are lying on an Alterra-constructed table, he's lying in an Alterra-constructed bed, he's in an Alterra-constructed multi purpose room.

Definitely not dead, then, Ryley decides, because if Alterra's bought out the afterlife he's going to stay alive out of sheer spite.

That, and the pain in the back of his head has just returned with a vengeance that makes him wish he _was_ dead, immediately squeezing his eyes shut and hissing. At least he's lying on his side in this Alterra-constructed bed; he must have hit the back of his head, and there's a thick dressing held in place with a roll of bandages.

While the pain fades, Ryley keeps his eyes shut and thinks hard.

He's in a base, presumably made with his own habitat builder. His things were piled up neatly nearby, his head is bandaged.

Last he checked, he was about to be killed by a leviathan. An improvement it may be, but a confusing one, frankly.

Someone else must have survived, then. Perhaps someone whose radio had been destroyed, unable to send out a distress call, someone who had also been able to gather the resources to get this deep. There had been a hundred and fifty-seven people on board the Aurora. He knew of eleven or twelve whose lifepods and final messages he had found, and he knew that Captain Hollister had gone down with the ship - but that still left over a hundred and forty others it could have been.

Then he's not alone. Ryley's breath catches. He's _not alone_. Someone else has survived.

(He immediately pushes the thought that this is a dying hallucination out of his head as unhelpful.)

"Hello?" he tries to call and immediately falls to coughing, curling in on himself in the bed. Still sick, still dying, he has to remember that, and whoever else survived is likely also sick as well. They may not be alone, but if they don't find a way to get better, they'll still die all the same.

His bout of coughing leaves him feeling weak and shaken, eyes shut tight. There's a strong desire to go back to sleep, because he feels bone tired, an exhaustion more debilitating than any he's ever felt; at the same time, he's simply too sore to actually drift off.

Sick, sore, and tired, but he's also curious, curious and _alive_. He's alive, and isn't sure how or why, and more than sleep, he wants answers.

Breathe in, slowly, evenly. Not too deeply or his lungs will protest again, just enough to get him air without making him cough again. Out, and in again. Keeps doing that, swallows gently against his burning throat.

There's a bottle of water he's just noticed on the table with his gear. Ryley shuts his eyes tightly, then slowly, carefully, starts to push himself upright.

So far, so good.

He's noticing more. His boots are beneath the table, neatly lined up, and he doesn't even do that in his own base. Beyond it is a water filter machine, salt already collecting in its tray. Stacked neatly against the wall beyond the filter, a small pile of first aid kits, more probably used to make the bandages currently wrapped around his head, and then the rounded bulk of a wetroom.

The only other thing he can see is a bulkhead leading to who knows where. Leading to who knows _who_.

Cautiously, Ryley stands (more or less), reaches for the water, and gulps down enough that he has to fight to keep it down. _Slowly, slowly!_ he reprimands himself, and sips it a bit more carefully, still holding on to the table to keep himself upright.

His head hurts. His vision is swimming. He wants to go back to bed and sleep for a week. It's only curiosity and the thought that in a week he might be dead that keeps him upright, keeps him alert.

At least, at least he doesn't have to wait for long. With an obscenely loud clunk that makes a jag of pain flare in the back of his skull, the bulkhead starts to swing open.

On the other side is someone who's _glowing_.

For a moment, Ryley wonders if his head injury is worse than he had thought. But no, nothing else is glowing - just his apparent saviour, around his age, short black hair, wearing a pair of brief shorts with part of an Alterra logo on it and apparently cut from a standard AEP suit.

It's his blood, Ryley realises distantly. He can see the patterns made by veins and arteries, can see his heart glowing through his ribs. Blood glowing gold, shining through his skin.

"Uh," Ryley says.

The stranger smiles, approaches, hands Ryley a PDA. He glances down, finding words already typed up.

**Hello!** it says, cheery somehow even through the text. **I apologise in advance for the awkward mode of communication, I can't speak. To answer what I'm assuming will be your immediate questions:**

**1) You're safe.**

**2) The creature that attacked you is called a ghost leviathan. They're territorial, but otherwise not aggressive. I apologise that this one destroyed your vehicle, they were just trying to defend this place.**

**3) I had to borrow your hab builder to create this room and the items in it. My own shelter is in disrepair and some parts are flooded. With your permission, I'd like to borrow your repair tool, then you'll be able to move around more.**

**4) Please don't worry about possibly infecting me, I have it as well (currently dormant). The bacteria also caused, well, changes. (You may have noticed I glow :-P )**

**5) No, I still don't know if there is a cure. I have some theories on why it's dormant in me, but nothing verified yet.**

**6) If your cough is particularly bad, I have nebulised medication you can take. I also have some medications for pain and fever, but I don't know if you'll react badly to them.**

**7) I have food if you feel you can keep it down.**

**I hope that answers most of your questions!**

Ryley reads those words, brow furrowed, glances back up at his patiently waiting saviour. Glances back down at it.

"Just one question," he says slowly, and hands back the PDA. "Who _are_ you?"

There's an interesting play of expressions across the stranger's face - surprise, irritation that he had apparently forgot to answer something so basic, a flash of amusement. With a smile, he taps at the PDA and hands it back for Ryley to read.

And Ryley's breath catches in his throat, because he recognises that name. He _knows_ it. Has seen it written in reports and manifests, has heard its owner's voice, speaking dreamily of the world they live in, with delight over new discoveries, with resignation over his apparently-not-quite-impending death.

It's a voice that has kept Ryley company when he's been at his loneliest, has kept him confident when he's been at his most afraid, has helped when he's hated and feared the world he's trapped in by showing the beauty and wonder in it.

**Sorry about that!** the PDA reads. **It's been a while since I talked to anyone (so to speak ;-D ) (Sorry). My name is Bart Torgal. And you?**


	2. Chapter 2

There is an _actual living human_ lying in the next room.

Bart paces the hall (sturdy, but the multi purpose room on the other end is prone to leaks; he's added in bulkheads to keep the other human safe), hands running through his hair in frenetic, anxious tugs.

Has he done enough? The new multi purpose room is sturdy, there's good power flowing from the vents. The human has water nearby, his gear is close at hand. He has a bed to sleep in. He should be comfortable.

It had taken all of Bart's self control to simply remove the boots and gloves, unfasten the top of the suit, bandage the wound. All his self control to not give in to the urge to _touch_. He hasn't felt another human's skin for eight years; even with the infection, the sight of another human is still the most gloriously beautiful thing he's ever seen.

(Having a working hab builder and fabricator is a pretty close second. Bart's fabricator had been broken for five years, his hab builder for three, and his repair tool for two; his little home is held together with gum and hope. He hadn't just taken the opportunity to build shelter for the stranger, he had also taken the opportunity to print fibre mesh, batteries, first aid kits. No cave sulfur to make a repair tool. He may have to ask the stranger if he can use his.)

He must look a mess. Bart glances at his shadow, runs a hand through his hair again, and hurries off to his own room.

His hair is easy enough to deal with; Bart has got used to cutting it with his knife. Short at the sides and back, longer on top. Neat and manageable in the water. For the rest... he peers down at himself critically.

No, this won't do at all.

He's installed the new fabricator in the hall just outside the stranger's room, and now he takes a handful of fibre mesh and prints the most basic outfit on the files. The All-Environment Protection Suit, the machine calls it, like a souped-up version of his old dive suits; it's pretty resistant to his knife, although he does eventually manage to slice it into a pair of fairly neat shorts.

No sense alarming the first human he's seen in eight years by strolling in and greeting him in the altogether.

(He's the only human on the planet. Modesty hasn't been in his vocabulary for a long, long time.)

God. He's going to have to _communicate_. Bart raises a hand to brush his bare chest, then hurries back out to his room again to get his PDA. Feeling nauseous, a combination of nerves and excitement, he hurriedly writes in an introduction, everything he can think of to say, everything the stranger might want to know.

"Okay," he mouths, then tries it out loud, wincing at the weakness of the sound that comes out. Okay. PDA it is, then.

At least that still works.

By the time he returns to the bulkhead, he can hear the stranger up and moving about. Bart freezes at the door, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, the fingers of the hand not holding the PDA fluttering at his side.

It's a person. Just a person. Someone who's sick, and injured, and lost, someone who's probably thought they were completely alone.

Torn between so excited he feels like his molecules are vibrating at the speed of light and so anxious he feels like his stomach has turned into a black hole, Bart closes his eyes, counts to three, paints a smile on his face, and twists open the bulkhead latch.

The stranger turns to him, and stares, and says, "Uh."

 _The first word I've heard another human say in eight years!_ a part of Bart's brain thrills.

Still smiling, trying to radiate trustworthiness, Bart approaches and holds out the PDA. The stranger takes it, his brow furrowing as he reads, and Bart tries not to stare too obviously.

Another human, living and breathing - even if Bart can hear the wheezing, the strain as the bacteria attacks his lungs. Another human with warm, soft skin - even if Bart can see the telltale blisters, can almost feel the heat of the fever from where he stands.

Someone else who's been lost. Someone else who's been lonely, who's been afraid.

"Just one question," the stranger says slowly as he hands the PDA back, and Bart tries not to start at the sound. "Who _are_ you?"

Bart blinks, then almost laughs. Every question he thought would need answering, and he forgot his _name_. Accepting the PDA, he rapidly types an answer and offers it again, and the other human takes it and freezes.

Had he said something wrong?

"Okay," the stranger says weakly, and shakes his head. "Wow, uh. Do you mind if we sit down?"

Sudden anxiety overwhelming the excitement, Bart silently gestures to the bed. The stranger staggers over to it and drops himself on it with a soft groan; Bart hovers by the end of the bed, fingers knotted together.

The stranger is still staring at Bart's PDA. "It's almost unbelievable," he says, and his voice is even more hoarse. "Man. My name's Ryley - Ryley Robinson. I was on board a ship called the Aurora when we were shot down. We were meant to be going on a long-haul expedition to install a phasegate, but it turned out we had another mission. We were meant to see if we could find out what happened to the missing ship - the Degasi."

_The Degasi!_

The sound of it, the name - Bart hasn't heard it for years, but now he can't stop remembering. Remembering his father, his upbringing. Learning, exploring. Being taught to make the Torgal name proud, but escaping to plants, animals, nature in between to rest and recalibrate.

The Degasi. The ship he had boarded to start a new life in charge of the next phase of Torgal Corp's operations. The feeling as he had boarded, knowing that he wouldn't be the same person when the journey ended, not knowing how true it would be. The monotony of the journey and the terror of being shot down; the uncertainty and fear and wonder and _joy_ of the place they had been stranded in.

His father's death, Marguerit's. The resignation that he was going to die, that he would join them soon; the... surprise, for lack of a better word, when he had survived against all odds.

Eight years, the only human on the entire planet - if he _is_ still human, after all.

"Sorry," Ryley says softly, and Bart realises that he's crying.

Wiping ineffectively at his eyes, Bart gestures for the PDA and Ryley quietly obliges. **Sorry. It's been a while since I heard the name,** he taps, and holds it up before adding, **And I am so sorry that we led you to this place too. Are there any other Aurora survivors?**

Ryley exhales. "No. Just me, I think. I thought you were someone else from the crew when I first woke up, I didn't expect, well, _you_." He shakes his head. "There were a hundred and fifty-seven of us. But I don't think all the life pods launched - the black box data said that the starboard lifepod bays were damaged. The first twenty-five lifepods on port launched. Only ten landed intact, and the other nine have all been destroyed. I guess everyone else died in the ship."

Ryley looks pale, resigned, but Bart feels like his blood has frozen. Bad enough to be the only survivor of six from the Degasi. Ryley was the only survivor out of _a hundred and fifty-seven_.

Over a hundred and fifty dead, because they had come to this place to find _him_.

All he can write is, **I'm sorry.** His hand is shaking as he hands the PDA to Ryley.

Ryley barely glances at the PDA. He takes it, sets it on the bed, and grabs Bart's hand instead, holds on to it with both his own, his hands warm and human and there, right there with him.

"It wasn't your fault," he says steadily. "It wasn't. Blame the Mongolian States for giving us the assignment, or Alterra for taking it. Or blame the aliens for shooting us down. Blame the aliens for shooting _you_ down. Or blame your father for coming here in the first place. Blame whatever leviathan broke open that disease research place and releasing the Kharaa. Blame the aliens for bringing it here. Fuck it, blame the Kharaa for evolving in the first place, but dammit, it is _not your fault_."

Bart is shaking, staring at their linked hands, the words repeating over and over in his head.

_It's not your fault. It is not your fault._

_Please, don't stop touching me._

He pulls free instead, taking the PDA and clumsily tapping a message. **Im going to get you some food bk soon** , he writes, hands it to Ryley, and leaves as fast as his shaking legs let him.

_One from a hundred and fifty-seven._

Bart has spent the last eight years wrapped in guilt, making it his barrier from the world - wondering if he could have done more, if he could have saved his father and Marguerit if he hadn't left, if he could have found a way to survive on the island and never, ever go deeper. If they had stayed there, then perhaps they wouldn't have got sick; if they had stayed there, perhaps all three of them would have survived, even as the rest of their crew had died.

He's made it to his little kitchen. Wading through the knee-deep water (it's leaking again), he sets a pan of clean water to boil and starts slicing potatoes with unnecessary force.

And now it's not just five deaths he carries with him. It's a hundred and sixty-one. The Aurora had been instructed to find out what had happened to the Degasi, and that meant him, and that decision had lead to their deaths.

A hundred and fifty-six people had died. And if Ryley doesn't find a cure, doesn't start recovering soon, it'll be a hundred and fifty-seven. Because he's sick, Bart recognises it, has been through it himself. _Kharaa_ , Ryley had called it, a curse, and it was, a curse that was marking his skin for death.

His hands are shaking.

He moves mechanically, getting the potatoes on the boil, grinding salt for flavour. He's managed to find other things to eat, a good varied diet, but he's both unsure whether a normal human will be able to digest them and remembers the nausea that accompanied the second stage of the illness. When he had gotten to that stage, plain mashed potatoes had been just about all he could stomach.

_A hundred and fifty-six..._

He doesn't lift his gaze when he finally returns to the room he's already dubbed as Ryley's, setting the potatoes and a fork down, along with the armful of fibre mesh he's brought along. **Sorry about leaving earlier!** he types, **If you give me your PDA, I can copy my blueprints and data entries across to you, and you can make use of the fabricator just outside. I'm sure you'd like to get into something more comfortable! :-)**

Handing it over with an actual smile on his lips, Bart gestures to the fibre mesh. Ryley nods, scanning the message.

"Sure," he murmurs, tapping his PDA to Bart's to start the transfer. "I'll send you my data too. It'll be interesting comparing notes."

Bart doesn't say anything, just smiles a little less hesitantly, nods once.

Ryley has been busy. There's a wealth of information on there, and Bart stares a little as he notes how many new entries there are. **That's a lot of reading material! While you eat, may I borrow your hab builder and repair tool?**

"Sure," Ryley murmurs, glancing at the message before switching his gaze back to his own PDA and the new entries there in fascination. "Take as long as you need."

Another forced smile. Bart picks up the tools and his PDA and makes his escape, to focus on repairs, to focus on making things better, to be anywhere, anywhere other than the room containing Ryley Robinson and one hundred and sixty-one lingering ghosts.


	3. Chapter 3

Ryley sits back against the head of the bed and lets out a sigh that immediately turns into a fit of coughing.

He's upset Bart. Yes, he had covered it up with smiles, with cheery words, but it's been nearly a decade since Bart has had to hide feelings and the pain is written clear on his face, that he feels the deaths of the Aurora crew - of Ryley's crew - with an acuteness that Ryley isn't even allowing himself to feel.

He's not thinking about it. Ryley reaches for his potatoes and eats numbly, gazing at the PDA in his hands and flipping it open to the blueprints section.

It's extensive. Even without a fabricator, Bart's civilian PDA has still kept all the prints intact, and Ryley finds himself genuinely impressed with the sheer amount of stuff that can be made with other stuff. Lab equipment, room decor, clothes - clothes? 

He sighs in abject relief, shovelling the last of his potatoes in his mouth and scooping up some of the fibre mesh to print himself something to wear other than one of the form-fitting suits (environmental, radiation, reinforced - it doesn't matter, they're slightly different functions for effectively the same outfit) he's been wearing for two months. For good measure, he adds enough for a towel, mindful of the wetroom, then steps outside of his little room to find the fabricator.

It's not much - just a bulkhead separating the room from a little corridor, another at the other end. He can see faint lines over that end, still glowing white from the repair tool; Bart had mentioned his base being in poor repair.

He can deal with that later, help with repairs, maybe. In the mean time, Ryley desperately wants to be clean.

Towel, new clothes. No creepvine seeds to make soap, but a glance in the door of the wetroom reveals there's already some there. Ryley strips out of the dive suit then, gingerly, unwraps the bandages around his head, cautiously probing the area with the tips of his fingers.

The wound has already started clotting, at least. He's still got one hell of a headache, but that's to be expected. The hood of the dive suit had likely saved him from splitting his skull open like a marblemelon.

The wetroom is civilian standard, meaning that unlike Ryley's, it actually has hot water. Polymer sheet to keep towels and paper dry, basin and toilet folded up, drain in the floor, touchpad to switch between basin and showerhead and - yes! - choose the water temperature. Ryley hangs up his towel and starts up the first hot shower he's had in months.

(Alterra's survival blueprints seem to be spectacularly uninterested in anything that would be considered enjoyable. It had even taken him until finding the Degasi base in the caves before he could sleep on a bed instead of the floor.)

At first, he simply enjoys the sensation - cleaning salt from his skin and (carefully) hair, gingerly rinsing the blisters clean. He's felt so disgustingly ill, so unwell and sweaty and feverish over the past few weeks, and being clean feels so good he almost groans out loud. He probably shouldn't try washing his hair, not sure how well creepvine soap interacts with head wounds, but at least he can scrub his soapy hands through part of it.

Stars, he wishes he still had hair gel. He hasn't been able to look like himself since he was on the Aurora.

It's such a tiny, stupid, inconsequential thought. It's a thought about _hair gel_. But it's a thought connected to his life, the old life he lost when the Aurora had spun from the sky, when he had lost _everything_ , and it's enough to make him sink to the floor of the wet room.

When he starts crying, heaving, full-bodied sobbing that leave him feeling enervated and coughing and breathless, it's about hair gel, and the Aurora, and his cabin mates. It's about two months of isolation, and of fighting and killing to survive, and of ocean, ocean, ocean. It's about the bacteria in his blood, and he's so fucking scared to die he can hardly move, but he has to, has to keep going, has to keep fighting, but he's so _scared_ all the time...

He wants hair gel. He wants coffee. He wants camaraderie and jokes and sharing beds and meals and a few pilfered bottles of wine with his cabin mates behind the storage crates in cargo bay four. He wants to feel _safe_ again.

Bart has kept going, has kept fighting for nearly ten years. He's been alone all this time; he's fought Kharaa and he's beaten it. Maybe his story hasn't been the same as Ryley's, but he's survived.

Right now, Ryley needs him, needs him more than anyone else in the entire world. That thought is enough to force his tears to stop, force himself to his feet. Turn off the water and dry off, step outside the wetroom to wrap the blisters he's broken open, his sluggishly bleeding head wound, get dry and dressed and _human_ again.

Not a wreck, crying on the floor of the shower over hair gel.

Wiping his nose with the part of his hand with the least blisters, Ryley hesitates for a moment, glancing at his clean clothes, then reluctantly pulling the reinforced dive suit back on. He's not sure what state the base will be in, Bart had mentioned leaks, so he shrugs on the oxygen tank and takes the rebreather, ready to slip it on at a moment's notice.

No flippers, he can't be bothered. No belt, he won't need most of his gear, just takes the PDA and scanner.

And then he draws in a careful breath and sets out to find Bart.

Beyond the second bulkhead is another multi purpose room, this one with clearer signs of habitation - a desk, another wetroom, a bed that he's fairly sure is actually handmade, with a (slightly lumpy) metal frame and bed linens that had clearly been woven from creepvine fibre. The floor is wet; Ryley spots the telltale signs of a repair tool having been used in the recent past.

Another hall, this one lined with storage lockers in various states of disrepair - some rusted through, a few missing doors. Mostly natural materials, or ones that have been manipulated by hand; he can see containers made of beaten copper.

How long had Bart been living like this, in a base falling down around his ears?

Another multipurpose room. This one has a hatch leading outside, another desk, some corroding equipment that's already been swept off to the side for, presumably, repair or replacement. More copper containers, one full of coral fragments, another with various plants, one (higher up on a shelf, out of where the waterline leaves a stain against the walls) packed with salt. Something that could potentially be a stove, just a metal coil attached to a primitive power cell. A basic water filter, some salvaged bottles filled with various intriguing substances.

Beyond that is another bulkhead, thin rivulets of water running from the bottom of the frame. Mouthpiece in hand, Ryley holds his breath (then coughs painfully, then breathes in again) and opens the door.

Water sloshes out through the door. Not much, the room on the other side is only flooded up to about his knees. Ryley shuts the bulkhead door behind him hastily, then stares.

The room is lined with glass; Bart is crouched beside one of the windows, fixing up a tiny leak. Ryley barely notices him. Outside is a tree, a gorgeous, glorious tree, tipped with elegant tendrils that fade from indigo to fuchsia. Glowing blue orbs sit nestled in its branches, and the underwater river around it is luminous and cyan. Ghost rays swim lazy laps around it; blue-tipped branches stretched their fingers up from the river.

Bart turns his head and grins, gesturing to the tree as if to say, _Well? Isn't it spectacular?_

"It's gorgeous," Ryley murmurs, kneeling beside him in the slowly-draining water. "I'm guessing it can probably kill you ten different ways before you hit the ground."

Reaching for his PDA, Bart rapidly types a message and hands it over with a smile. **No, actually! :-D This is the safest place in the entire crater, I think. The tree is harmless, the rays are harmless, there's some deep shrooms but they don't bother you too much. The tree produces some kind of base that neutralises the acid in the brine pools. The prowlers never come in here. There's power** \- Ryley can see a power transmitter and, clustered on some gently smoking vents like barnacles, a few thermal power stations - **and enough space for me to grow food. I like it! :-)**

Smiling back, Ryley hands the PDA back. "I stand corrected."

Bart nods and returned to his repairs; Ryley watches him in silence. He can see, actually _see_ Bart thinking, the bloodflow turning his eyes faintly luminescent as he concentrates; when Bart sets down the repair tool and cracks his knuckles, the blood in his hands glows a little brighter.

It's bizarre. Beautiful. As strange and as lovely as this planet itself.

And he would be happy to stay like this, just watching, just being with someone else, when Bart himself breaks the calm silence by tapping in another message. **Did you manage to find everything okay? How were the potatoes?**

Ryley blinks. "Oh - they were fine. Thank you." A hesitant smile. "I printed some new clothes and showered, but I didn't know where to find you, so..." Gesturing vaguely to the dive suit, he shrugs. "I wanted..."

_Hair gel. To feel safe again. You, so I wouldn't be alone any more._

"...to look around. How long have you been here?"

Bart stands, stretches, and starts typing; Ryley takes the opportunity to push himself up, to watch the bend and flex of Bart's fingers as he types.

(It's not creepy, he tries to argue with himself. He hasn't been around another person for months, and Bart is fascinating to look at.)

**I'm not sure exactly, but a while! We had a few bases here at first - on the island, then in the Jellyshroom caves, then in the reef. After I left the reef, I returned to the island, but I knew - or thought! - that I was going to die soon. I wanted to see more of this beautiful planet. I returned to the water and ended up finding the river, and from the river, I found this place.**

"And you didn't die," Ryley murmurs. "You were sick - that recording, up on the island, you even _sounded_ sick. But you didn't die. How?"

(Oh stars, he's so scared to die.)

Bart doesn't start writing immediately. When he does, it's brief and to the point.

**I don't know. Theories, no real facts.** Perhaps sensing Ryley's scrutiny, seeing his frown, he adds on another part; **The glowing started at the same time as my recovery started.**

"So they're probably connected," Ryley finishes, and nods gloomily. "I thought I'd find answers at the facility. It was in ruins, though."

Bart gazes out at the tree, then types out a response, and his expression when he hands the PDA to Ryley is more serious than he has ever seen before.

**I think you need to talk to Her.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emetophobia warning (non-graphic) for this chapter.

Bart has spent so long living underwater. Ryley Robinson is like the sudden intrusion of the sun on a dark night; if Bart isn't careful, he's going to be dazzled.

When he had first emerged from the reef, trailing his ghosts behind him, the sun had reached for him and lifted him from the water. And he had fled from it, fled back into the deep, deeper than he ever had gone before, to know that the sun would not be looking down on his death either.

To become a part of an ocean, a world that was prison and sanctuary both.

He had lived, instead. He had curled up at the base of his tree, and had hidden from the sun, and become a part of the ocean in that way, instead.

And now Ryley is here. Ryley, who still has the heat of the sun in his skin (or, maybe, it's the fever). Bart can barely look directly at him.

He's glad he can't speak, now; gives him an excuse to look at his PDA instead of at Ryley. Answering questions of place, of history, easy answers.

"But you didn't die," Ryley says, and Bart grimaces. "How?"

He doesn't know. Can't know for sure. Elements of his survival, yes; he's connected his golden veins to the enzyme carried by the peepers, knows that _She_ somehow, somehow has something to do with it. His answer is short and, to Ryley, probably unsatisfying.

"So they're probably connected. I thought I'd find answers at the facility," Ryley sighs. "It was in ruins, though."

Bart gazes out at the tree, his shelter and sanctuary. He's thinking, thinking; he can feel the tenuous connection he's shared with his only and oldest friend on this planet and wonders if Ryley has felt it too, if he too has heard Her, has touched their minds together.

He feels protective of Her, and Her young, and such a thought is absurd for a tiny thing of twenty-eight years old compared to Her immense age and size.

But, he's starting to become protective of Ryley Robinson too, and so he types out his response.

**I think you need to talk to Her.**

Bart watches Ryley's expression carefully as his gaze flicks down to read the message, and so he can see the confusion, the realisation, the wonder in his eyes. " _Her_ ," Ryley murmurs, and licks at his dry lips. "There was... a voice, I guess. I didn't know if it was a hallucination or not. When I tried to shut down the quarantine platform, a little after that, I..." He shrugs uncomfortably. "It wasn't much. But there was a voice, and she asked 'Who are you?'. Is that who you're talking about?"

Taking back the PDA, Bart closes his eyes for a moment and breathes out a thanks.

**It may be. She is... a very old being. I'm not sure where She is, exactly, just that it's even deeper than here, that She's been held captive for a very long time by the base-builders, and that She wants to help. And She needs help, too! She's resigned to never leaving, but if Her children can leave, then She'll be happy.**

He swallows compulsively, and adds, **I can't get to Her. The environment going deeper is incredibly hot. But if you have the technology, you might be able to reach Her.**

It's a huge ask, and he knows it, handing the PDA to Ryley. To ask a dying man to put himself in unprecedented risk just to help a stranger. But if it saves him, would it be worth it? If it saves the world, would Ryley's death be an acceptable sacrifice?

If it saves Her, would he risk whatever it took?

"I'll help," Ryley says almost immediately, and Bart meets his gaze. "If I can get back up to the surface, I can make an exosuit. It should be able to withstand the pressures and heat."

He holds his PDA out, open to the blueprints page, and taps the icon marked 'Prawn suit'. The schematics pop up, and the materials required - plasteel ingots, aerogel, enameled glass (and Bart has to hide a smile, a fond smile at the memory of Marguerit and the stalker teeth), lead, even diamonds. 

"There's a few modifications we would have to make," Ryley is saying. "They're approved for up to nine hundred metres only. But with mods, you can push another kilometre or so there. There's a jump jet and grappling arm for extra mobility, a drill arm for gathering materials, a thermal reactor for getting power in hot zones..."

He's tapping each icon as he mentions them; at the last one, Bart frowns and reaches for his own PDA. **Most of those sound easy enough to do, except kyanite for the second depth mod and the reactor. I think that's only found already in the hot zone.** But the main part, the suit itself...

Yes, that seems doable.

Ryley, too, is staring at the entries. "It wouldn't be too hard to build a moonpool and upgrade console down here," he mutters, pausing to cough. "It'd save building it, coming down here for kyanite, going back up again..."

**I could do that! :-D Build a moonpool, I mean. We have all the materials!**

Titanium, lubricant, lead. Bart grows his own creepvines, and there are abundant metals all around the river. And certainly, his own hand drill isn't quite as powerful as a Prawn drill would be, but it would do the job. And the console - titanium, copper; gold, table coral samples. He's already nodding to himself, noting down locations in his head.

Ryley could build the suit, bring it down here. They could go deep enough into the heated area to find kyanite (or, at least, he hopes); upgrade it right here in the river to get even deeper, even closer...

It could work. It really could.

They're on their way back to Bart's main living quarters when Ryley starts coughing again, almost doubling over with the force of them. When he tries to straighten up, his face is paper-white, hair clinging to his clammy forehead. "Excuse me," he says faintly, and bolts for the wetroom.

Bart winces at the sound of retching, makes a detour to retrieve a bottle of water.

He finds Ryley curled up on the floor of the wetroom, forehead pressed to the rim of the bowl. His thanks when Bart wordlessly hands him the bottle of water is barely audible, and he's barely rinsed his mouth out before it starts again.

Bart bites his lip, then reaches out to rub a gentle hand down Ryley's back. Whether or not he can really feel it through a reinforced dive suit is anyone's guess, but Ryley seems to appreciate it, leaning against his hand as Bart rubs circles between his shoulder blades.

When it's over, Ryley rinses his mouth out again and flushes, drains the rest of the water bottle, and then sags, exhausted, against Bart's shoulder.

Bart freezes.

Ryley is so warm. It's not just the fever, it's him; muscles, bones, blood in his veins. And it's been so long, so long since he's touched _anyone_. The brief contact of their hands before is no match for this, not for this almost-embrace.

Hesitantly, Bart raises his arms to wrap around Ryley, and turns the almost-embrace into a real one.

Maybe they both need this. Maybe Bart has got used to being alone, but it's still all too close, all too raw for Ryley, because his eyes are squeezed shut, pressing his face against the crook of Bart's bare neck, his breath warm against his skin.

Bart wonders if Ryley can feel him shivering. Decides it doesn't matter, because Ryley is too.

_I've got you. I'm here. You're here. It's okay. We're okay._


	5. Chapter 5

In the end, it's Bart who leaves for the surface and Ryley who stays behind to make the moonpool.

It had been Bart's idea. As much as it had chafed, Ryley had seen the wisdom in it - he simply was not strong enough for a swim through the length of the underwater river and up nearly a kilometre to the surface. Bart had been given abundant instruction on how to use the mobile vehicle bay, where to find Ryley's base and stores, and permission to use any other supplies he needed. They had rested and eaten, and then Bart had left and Ryley had got to work.

He had dragged himself back into the dive suit, strapped on the air tanks, fins, rebreather; had taken the habitat builder in hand to start constructing a moonpool and a few power transmitters. The upgrade console had been installed at one end, and a modification station in the corner. A locker, to hold the two hull reinforcement modules, jump jet, drill arm, and grappling arm he had been able to make, between them.

The first depth module, he took up to the ridge that separated the tree cove from the rest of the river, stashing it carefully in a waterproof locker. The base of the cove was just a little past the nine hundred metre limit of the unmodified Prawn; once they had the kyanite, they would get it into the pressure-stabilised environment of the moonpool, remove the module, and upgrade it to go deeper, go further.

And then, work completed, head pounding, he had retreated to the safety of his bed.

Sleep does not come. Ryley tosses and turns restlessly, shoving his hands under the pillow to try and stop himself from clawing at himself and the blisters. His skin is burning like he's sunburned, and even the light weight of the sheet and his new clothes press on the blisters like lead. His bones and joints ache, he's nauseous and dizzy, weak from fever; his throat is burning from coughing.

It's not just the physical pain and discomfort. When he had thought he was the only human on the planet, being alone had been bearable. Now, though, he knows that Bart is here, still alive and well. He knows that Bart is the one risking his life to continue their mission, that he's the one who'd be dodging leviathans and who knew what else to get the Prawn suit.

What if he came too close to the Aurora and encountered the reapers? What if one of those crab things and their EMP blasts disabled the suit, leaving him at its mercy? What if he angered a crashfish?

There are so many variables. So many dangers on this planet. He had found Bart and hadn't been alone, and then Bart had left and Ryley was by himself again.

Ryley growls, thumps the pillow with his fists, and twists around on to his back again (still aching head aside, he can breathe very slightly easier this way), gazing up sightlessly at the ceiling.

When Bart finally does return, an eternity later, Ryley is still awake. He feels worn thin, sick and tired, but Bart's eyes are shadowed too, the glow more sluggish. In lieu of handing over a PDA, he simply gives Ryley a brief smile and a thumbs up, then turns to head back out the door.

"Bart?"

Every cell in Ryley's aching, exhausted body wants him, needs him to be close.

"S-stay with me for a bit?"

Bart hesitates, then nods, closing the bulkhead door behind him, approaching the bed like he's approaching a sacrament. Ryley shifts over and pats the space next to him, quirks a faint, embarrassed smile.

"Just - when you were gone, it felt like... like I was alone again. And I don't wanna be alone again." He says it half to the pillow, not meeting Bart's gaze; he feels absurdly vulnerable, emotionally naked. It feels pathetic, to ask someone he's only just met to sleep in the same bed as him because he's _lonely_ , but maybe Bart understands that, maybe he feels the weight of nearly a decade so much more crushingly than Ryley's two months, because he lies down immediately.

They lie facing each other, hands an inch apart.

"Good night," Bart mouths clearly and closes his eyes. Ryley smiles, and does the same, and this time sleep comes easily.

 

He's warm when he wakes up again. There's an arm around his waist and comforting warmth against his back; the bed is soft and the pain hasn't kicked in yet too badly.

For a moment, comfortable with the world, Ryley drifts off again.

It's only when the water filter machine fills up another bottle that his sleep-fogged brain recognises that he's in a sea base nearly a kilometre under the surface, not in his bunk in the Aurora travelling through open space, that he's sick with an illness that will kill him, not just tired and aching after a long day's work; that it's not one of his bunk mates cuddled up to him, it's Bart Torgal - survivor, genius, glowing mutant.

Ryley doesn't open his eyes (because he is, after all, comfortable). But reality is sinking in again. His situation, his illness. The enormity of the task he has ahead of him.

They have the Prawn suit now. He knows he needs to go deep, and they need kyanite for that. He can take the suit as far as it can go, gather as much as possible, and return to upgrade it; then go deeper, deeper, and hope it won't go so far as to become insurmountable.

He doesn't know what they'll find down there.

Bart is stirring. Ryley tenses automatically, preparing for awkwardness; instead, Bart presses his face against the back of Ryley's neck, stretches his arm out blindly to find one of Ryley's hands and entwining their fingers. They're both going to feel awkward about it later, Ryley suspects bemusedly, but at the moment, it's... nice.

It's _nice_. He had become used to sharing a bed on the Aurora, and on the ships he had worked in before. If months of no contact with anyone else has left Ryley... more than a little touch-starved, he can only imagine what it's done to Bart.

Bart stirs again, this time more wakefully; he detaches their hands and pushes himself up. Giving up on sleep, Ryley rolls back over on his back, giving Bart a tentative smile.

"Morning. I think."

Still blinking sleep from his eyes (Ryley stifles a laugh at the glowing patch on Bart's cheek where his face had been pressed against the pillow), Bart smiles back and shrugs exaggeratedly, leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve his PDA. **I've definitely lost track down here! Mind you, who needs schedules? :-D I eat when I'm hungry and sleep when I'm tired.**

Ryley reads that (surreptitiously watching Bart stretch like a cat out of the corner of his eye) and nods, handing it back. "Mm. I've noticed that some creatures are more active at night or at day, but aside from that..." He shrugs. "I'm not really hungry. Want to keep napping?"

Chuckling silently, Bart lies back down - facing Ryley, not quite close enough, tapping one-handed at the PDA. **Okay. Best we're at our best when we set out again!**

Ryley smiles at that, hesitates, then quietly says, "You can come closer. It's, um, it's nice."

There's a flicker of emotions that cross Bart's face - surprise, longing, loneliness. And then he shrugs with one shoulder and slides closer, setting his PDA within reach. Returning his arm to its previous position, he rests his head on Ryley's shoulder, a gold glow dusting his features.

"You're blushing," Ryley notes with amusement, and before Bart can protest, he wraps his arms around him too and closes his eyes. "It's okay. This is nice."

Bart buries his face against his shoulder and nods.

"It's good memories," he continues, feeling drowsiness overtaking him again. "Like on the Aurora. S'meant for a hundred and fifty people, y'know, only we had extra passengers. Command crew weren't going to give up their cushy staterooms, so the extra passengers got rooms meant for the engineering team. And the engineers didn't want to give up their spaces, so they got some of the support crew bunks. So there were forty of us in the support crew, crammed into bunks meant for thirty."

Another nod. Ryley supposes that means he should continue.

"It was okay for some. There were a few couples, they could share. And a trio, although who knows how they managed to fit three grown adults on a single bunk. For the rest of us, we ended up dragging in some other beds, and since we were short on lockers and storage too, a lot of us ended up sharing beds so we could use the other ones for our belongings."

He's smiling shakily, lost in memory. Lost in recollections of the dead. Would they have died on the Aurora? In space, in sea? There are tears prickling against his closed eyelids, still wrapped in ghosts.

"And - it was good. We were the lowest-ranking of the crew, so we stuck together against command and some of the engineers. Command and the passengers were usually taking up the VR suite and cinema, and when they weren't there, the engineers were, and there were twice as many of them as there was of us." He lets out a sigh, stifling another cough. "So we were close. Shared beds, meals, sex, made our own entertainment. Played a lot of poker. Sometimes someone would manage to get some wine from the upper dining halls and we'd drink behind the crates in one of the cargo bays."

Bart nudges him and Ryley opens his eyes; his face is both blush-pink and glowing, holding the PDA out and not meeting his gaze. Ryley glances at the message, then back up bemusedly.

**You were having sex with your cabin mates?**

"Well, yeah?" Stars, now he's starting to blush, with the intensity of the gaze Bart is levelling at him. "We're - we _were_ all adults, and most of us were sharing beds. It's not like it was mandatory, but if everyone involved was consenting and no one was getting hurt, why not?"

**I guess it's different culturally? In MIS sex is usually just between people in romantic relationships. We might be a bit more traditional than Alterra.**

Ryley sighs, then pushes himself up to sit cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees; Bart mirrors his pose. "I mean - it wasn't really an Alterra thing. More the opposite. We were all in the same situation. We were all thrown into a situation where we didn't have a lot of control and where our day to day lives were being dictated to the last minute by Alterra. If we could find other ways to connect, whatever those ways were, beyond what our masters demanded of us, then... it helped. Most of us didn't like Alterra much, actually," and he says it like he's just realising the depth of his dislike for the first time.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, spiking it up through his fingers. When he looks up again, Bart is offering him the PDA again, blushing enough to cast highlights on the screen.

**Do you want to 'connect' with me?**

Ryley nearly drops the PDA.

But Bart is staring at him, blushing but his expression fierce and determined, shoulders back, posture open. He's being honest and open, bold and brilliant; he's no innocent child. Ryley gazes back, noting the hair cut with a knife, the golden veins, the scars and marks of survival. The man sharing his predicament, both of them thrown into a situation outside of their control, both of them doing their best to keep their heads above the water.

Exquisitely alien; breathtakingly, _achingly_ human.

"Yes," he says honestly.

Bart gazes at him for a long heartbeat of a moment, then leans in, just enough to press a tiny, chaste kiss to the corner of Ryley's lips, forming the shapes of three words against his skin.

He's not completely sure, but he's fairly sure Bart had just mouthed 'when you're better'. Ryley nods numbly, wide-eyed.

A grin pops to life briefly on Bart's lips, and he slides out of the bed, stretching in a way that absolutely seems deliberate. Another quick message - **I'm going to get something to eat, I'll bring you something if you want! :-)** and he's gone, and Ryley is left feeling like he's just swum over the edge of a deep sea trench.

 

Bart looks like he really, sincerely wants to be shouting.

Instead, he's standing, face glowing with anger and frustration, writing into the PDA so furiously the whole thing is shaking. When he's done, he practically thrusts the thing in Ryley's face; Ryley has to pull back to actually read it.

**20 mins ago u were vomiting and now u want to go DEEPER???**

"What options do we have?" Ryley snaps back, hiding his flinch at the reminder. "You can't go! Not down there, it's too fucking dangerous!"

**u r DYING**

"Yeah, and I'll just die quicker if we don't do anything!"

It had started innocuously enough. Ryley, commenting with fascination on how long Bart had been out in the water collecting materials without an air tank; Bart, shaking his head and saying his lungs were useless, that one of his mutations meant he could absorb the oxygen in the water through his skin.

Ryley had seen the problem, then. Perhaps Bart had too. Perhaps he had all along.

"I've been avoiding warpers all through the river," he continues, gesturing wildly. "I don't always get away from them. If they're down there too, if they see you, what then?"

**ill avoid them too!!**

Furiously, Ryley tugs at his hair. "It's not that easy! Look, the temperature probe said that water is about fifty degrees. If you get warped out, you'll scald and suffocate at the same time!"

Hot water never did carry nearly as much oxygen. For all of Bart's ability to survive in cooler water, hot water was still an insurmountable danger.

**NOT GOING TO HAPPEN**

Resisting the urge to scream in frustration, Ryley turns on his heel, pacing back and forth. His words come out in bursts, short, angry pops of sound. "The water is hot! It'll burn you! Hot water doesn't have much oxygen, you won't be able to breathe! You can't use an oxygen tank! You can't use a dive suit!" He stalks back and thrusts out his arm, pinching at the stiff fabric of the reinforced suit. "I'd be protected, you _wouldn't_!"

Bart drops the PDA on the bed and presses his face in his hands. When he pulls back, his expression is composed, tranquil in its rage. **If something happens to you down there, if you have an attack, no one will be able to come for you. There will be NO HELP AT ALL. You would be on your own.**

"I would have been on my own anyway," he says, and his voice cracks. "I was going to go there next anyway, just to see what's there. And it's not like I have much longer anyway. Whether I died when the ghost attacked or die down there doesn't matter any more."

Expression twisting in pain, Bart shakes his head, staring down at the PDA. His hands are shaking as he types; he doesn't meet Ryley's gaze when he slides it across.

**i dont want to lose u too**

Ryley deflates, dropping down on the bed beside him, tentatively reaching for Bart's hand. "I don't want to lose _you_ ," he says softly. "You saved my life, literally. Let me do this for you now."

Bart's fingers curl around his own.

"You can't wear a dive suit and you can't use an oxygen tank," Ryley continues. "And fine, that's okay when you're in a safer environment. When there's fifty-degree anoxic water down there, if you get warped out of the Prawn, it would kill you. And that's not even including the warpers themselves. The one that attacked me at the island would have killed me if I hadn't been wearing the reinforced suit. It nearly cut straight through the fabric. If it had been bare skin, I would have lost my arm and then probably died too."

**It's probably more hypoxic than anoxic.** Bart is smiling ruefully as he shows Ryley the PDA; Ryley snorts and buries his face against Bart's shoulder and the tension dissolves like salt in water.

Bart's arms come up around him tentatively, then with more intent, and Ryley ignores the pain and fever, ignores the argument, clings back like he's a lifeline. "I'll come back," he whispers against his skin, "I promise. I'll be as quick as I can. I won't take any risks. I promise. I promise."

He can feel Bart nod, opens his eyes when he pulls back enough to cup Ryley's face in one hand and press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Stay safe," he mouths when they draw apart again, and there's a sad smile on his face. "Please."

"I will," Ryley says like an oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but seriously the Aurora Ship Status databank entry says, "Command Team (23), Engineering Team (85), Support Crew (40), Passengers (9)", which is 157, then in the same entry says that it has accommodation for 150 people. They are hella overfilled and you KNOW it's going to be the poor support crew who lose beds...


	6. Chapter 6

When the time comes for Ryley to leave, they set out together.

Bart swims alongside the Prawn suit, checking carefully, making sure Ryley can make use of it, the jump jets and the grappling arm, the drill that serves as both tool and self-defence, practising in the blue brine pools that cast shimmering reflections throughout the cove. He manages it well, skilfully navigating the cove, extracting himself from pools, using the grapple to augment the jets.

He has two spare power cells packed in the suit's built-in storage. First aid kits. Several bottles of water. All equipment fully charged, and several spare batteries to boot. Stasis rifle on his back, seaglide on his lap.

Honestly, the only way Ryley could be better prepared was if he wasn't sick.

Bart raises one hand to the glass. On the inside, Ryley presses his palm back in return, then Bart pushes away and watches as Ryley goes, down into the deep.

Ryley isn't the only one feeling sick, then. Bart drifts, watches helplessly as the Prawn suit turns the bend in the corridor, then turns back to the base with his head bowed.

There's not much he can do now other than wait. Bart putters around, tidying, going through his stores and replacing the occasional worn-out container or locker with a new one, courtesy of the new habitat builder he's made. (Still needs a repair tool, still hasn't gone up to the shallows to collect sulfur, and Ryley needs the one they have far more than he does right now.)

He might as well stock back up on the items they've used for new additions. Slinging his bag over his shoulder (it's really just a swag of woven creepvine, tied at the ends to form a strap), Bart collects his knife and hand pick and ventures out into the river junction, settling himself at a decent-sized outcrop of limestone and starting to chip away at it.

It's good, mindless work. He'll dig away at it, collect what copper and titanium he can find, then go restock his table corals. Keep himself busy, so he doesn't have to think about whatever Ryley might be facing down there.

He can't ignore the guilt gnawing at him, no matter how many reassurances Ryley gives about always intending on going further, deeper. He had been the one to bring Her up, and knows that at least part of the reason for going deeper is to try to find Her, but this has always been a task Bart has wanted to fulfil on his own.

She had been his only company, the only one he had spoken to, since his father and Marguerit had died. She had likely been the one who had saved him from going out of his mind with loneliness.

And now he was sitting by the river, chipping copper out of limestone, while someone else risked their life to help Her.

With a shake of the head, Bart sets down his hand pick and slumps down against the limestone, closing his eyes, letting the current tug at his hair and curl over his skin. It takes focus, but he's practised at it; focusing on each sense and slowly letting it filter away, leaving just the quiet, the calm.

_We're coming,_ he calls silently, never certain if She's able to hear this at all. _Two of us. We're going to help you._

She doesn't answer, but he thinks he can feel the touch of Her mind anyway.

He can't concentrate. Too distracted, too worried; he feels the connection slip away. Bart shakes his head, gathers his things, and returns home. Going through his PDA isn't the best idea either, no; he finds himself dwelling on the recordings Ryley had picked up, both from the stricken Aurora crew (Jochi Khasar! Jochi Khasar had been a friend of the family for as long as Bart could remember; he had been on the Aurora _specifically_ to look for Bart and his father and he had died for it, had prayed as he had plummeted towards certain death) and then, tentatively, from the Degasi.

_"Bart! Come in, it's dangerous! Dammit, boy, I know you can hear me!"_

He had been so angry. So frustrated. So completely finished with his father's refusal to act and with Marguerit's recklessness.

Oh, he had heard him. And he had kept swimming, furiously swimming for the surface and anywhere his father wasn't.

_"Chief. Chief, get off the radio and put on your helmet."_

_"What?"_

_"Brace!!"_

He had heard the call, the scream, reverberating through the water.

He had heard the sound of crumpling titanium.

_"Then, I thought I saw a light, deep below me. I hoped... maybe Bart had swum clear. I followed it. Now I... I wonder whether I saw anything at all. My oxygen is low. The habitat is gone. I can't see the sky. Something... surely has the scent of my blood."_

He had kept swimming.

He had just kept swimming, and he had not, could not, have looked back.

A tear drops on to the PDA, then another, and then there's a shudder and a clank as the Prawn suit docks and Bart jerks upright, wiping his eyes.

Ryley looks tired, pale. Still, he smiles faintly when he sees Bart, dropping down beside him.

"I got kyanite," he says, running a hand through his hair. "And found the alien base and some ion cubes. It needs some of those purple tablets, but I also managed to find a warp..." He waves a hand. "Warp thing. It goes to the facility on the island."

Bart blinks, then opens his text program. **The island in the northeast?**

Ryley nods. "I opened it up earlier. The Quarantine Enforcement Platform, it's called."

The facility on the island in the northeast, with a warp that leads straight to the new base, and with two purple tablets still to use. Bart bites his lip, then says, **My turn, then! :-D I can get up to the island easily enough, and if I go through the warp, I won't need to go through the hot water!**

Perhaps Ryley is too tired to argue. Perhaps it's safe enough, at least, for him not to raise any objection. He simply nods, still fiddling with his hair. "There's two exits going out into the hot water. Stay well away from them, I saw a lot of warpers around. When you get there, there's one room behind a force field with all these power facilities and data stations, and the other has something on a pedestal. For the island, there's an entrance on the beach, you take this weird levitating elevator to get down to the lower floor, or you can swim in through the moonpool to go straight there. Warp thing isn't far from the pool."

Bart smiles genuinely, dropping a kiss on Ryley's cheek. **I've been there. Thank you for trusting me!**

He needs this distraction. Needs to be doing something, to actually help and not just sit there. He had been able to help, constructing the Prawn suit; now, he could actually get deeper, do more.

Ryley watches him. "There's leviathans around the island," he says quietly.

Nodding, Bart taps a message and drops it in Ryley's hands as he gathers his things. **I know :-) It's fine, I've been dealing with them for nearly a decade. I dare say I have more experience with leviathans than you do! :-p**

"That's fair," Ryley laughs, then coughs again, deep from the bottom of his lungs. "Then I'm going to go shower and sleep."

Ryley sounds tired. Tired, and sick, and not arguing. Bart can't help but be worried.

Still, he needs to keep going. Needs to _do something_. Uses the ion cubes Ryley had gathered to print some more of the purple tablets, puts them in his bag along with his PDA and scanner, knife, a bottle of water, a med kit; on second thought, a small, portable tank. Collects a hooded cloak he had made years back, since bioluminescence is... inconvenient, around reapers.

(Pretends, only a little, to be a fantasy character complete with cloak and dagger, off on a quest to save the world.)

(He hadn't had many friends other than stories when he was younger.)

Ryley is already showering by the time Bart is ready to leave. Bart glances back at his room, then shakes his head and steps out into the deep.

The trip itself is uneventful - as uneventful as it ever gets, anyway; as uneventful as navigating the river can be. He doesn't know the ghost that lurks in the mountain corridor nearly as well as the one he's dubbed Nemo, but perhaps he's considered to be enough of a local that he passes it without incident.

He glances down at the pit opening up into the deeper, hotter water, and then keeps swimming, up and out into the boundary between the underwater mountains and the blue bulbs. From there, it's not far to his first target - one of the vents, the strange lifesaving vents with their strange, lifesaving peepers.

He collects five or six in the tank. Lets them swim around, lets the enzyme settle to the bottom, then releases the peepers back out to continue their good work.

Medicine collected, then. When he gets back, he'll siphon the water off, collecting the thicker gold enzyme that remains. Good medicine to keep his lungs deteriorating further, to keep the infection at bay.

For Ryley, it might be enough to help him last just a little bit longer.

The enzyme tank settled at the bottom of the bag, Bart pats it and then draws his hood up and starts the swim to the island. Keeps his head down and his eyes open. If he sticks close to the walls, reapers would have a harder time grabbing hold; if he keeps himself hooded and cloaked, they'd see him as just another scrap of creepvine.

It doesn't mean he's not terrified. His knife is shaking in his hand. Glib reassurances to Ryley are easy - being around reapers, that's not. He doesn't stop moving until he's out of the moonpool and into the alien base.

It's quiet, eerily so. He's been inside before - this same way, through the moonpool, tentatively looking around the bottom floor as far as he could. With the gate deactivated, there hadn't been much he could have actually done. Now, he can move with purpose.

It's very green. Bart swallows and sets down his sodden cloak and the enzyme tank, steels himself, and sprints into the green void before he can stop himself.

He's been warped by a warper before, and it feels a bit like that - the sudden lurching sensation that he's left his internal organs behind, his ears popping at the changes of pressure. For just a moment, it hurts, burns like he's been plunged into the water surrounding the base - and then he stumbles out, more or less still on his feet, in a pressurised and climate-controlled abandoned alien base more than a kilometre underwater and surrounded by scorching hot water.

_Right, then,_ he thinks, and stands up.

He finds the generator room first, unlocks it and immediately winces at the sheer _sound_ of it. Syncing every bit of information he can find to his PDA, and scanning the machinery itself, he hurries back out, feeling every hair on his body standing on end.

In the other room is a blue tablet. Bart lifts it reverently, carefully packing it in his bag, mindful not to let any of his other equipment scratch or damage it.

He's almost all the way back to the warp gate when he hears Her.

_Come here,_ she whispers, and Bart closes his eyes. _To me._

_I'm coming,_ he promises, _Soon. Soon. I promise. Soon._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly triggering descriptions of illness for this chapter.

Ryley is dying.

Oh, he's been dying by degrees since the crash, he knows that. Now, though, it's not an abstract concept, it's a verb - dying is something doing _right now_ , a process that has already started and which is unlikely to stop.

Never mind the crushing weight of the ocean. He's drowning from the inside out.

Still coughing. Still producing flecks of blood from his ravaged throat. But the rest he can feel settling in his lungs, suffocating and heavy; every breath feels like he's inhaling barbed wire. Genetic changes or not, he may not even make it past the pneumonia.

("Performing self-scan. Pulmonary functioning has decreased a further eleven percent. Unless bacterial infection is neutralised, death is imminent.")

Bart knows, he thinks. Bart has gone through this stage and survived, somehow; Bart gives him pained looks and medicine, love and care and attention, and he doesn't have the heart to confirm that he doesn't think it's enough.

But it's okay, dying. His fear has been replaced with a strange resignation. They had gone through the information from the thermal plant, found the location of the Primary Containment Facility; Ryley will go down and find out what they can do to help Her, and if that is the last thing he ever does, then at least it's not all for nothing.

He just wishes it didn't result in Bart being left alone again.

They prepare. Update the Prawn suit's depth mods and replace one of the hull reinforcements with the thermal generator, still have enough kyanite left to print another of the blue tablets Bart had found in the thermal plant, just in case. Get gear together, charge tools, repair the minor damage to the suit.

And in between, when he hopes Bart isn't looking, Ryley struggles to breathe, keeps on wearing the gloves of his dive suit to hide how his nails are starting to turn purple from lack of oxygen.

It's the night (probably) before he's set to leave, and Ryley can't sleep. Bart is still and quiet beside him, so he tries to keep his tossing and turning to a minimum, but his skin and lungs are burning like he's been plunged back into the lava zone without a Prawn suit. He hasn't even been able to keep down water, hasn't even been trying despite knowing he needs to stay hydrated, hating the retching, the feeling of his stomach turning inside out, feels dizzy and weak and unfocused because of it. Beneath the lighter clothes, his arms are bandaged from where he's tried to claw open the blisters, unable to bear the burning any more. He can't get the taste of blood out of his mouth.

Frankly, death might be a nice change at this point.

Quietly, trying to stifle his coughing, he slips out of bed barefoot. Like a ghost, he drifts through the darkened base to reach the room at the end, the glorious glass room and its view of the tree; Ryley leans against the far wall and tries to let it bring him peace.

Silently, Bart slides into the room, settles against him, finding Ryley's hand with his own.

"When I die -" Ryley starts, and Bart turns to him with wounded eyes. "No, seriously, when I die - it should be amongst the file transfers on the PDA. There's a - a blueprint for an escape rocket. You can use it to get back to Federation space."

Bart's hand tightens around his own.

It's not an answer, and Ryley can accept that for now, knows that Bart is unhappy with the whole situation. But it's an option, at least. An escape route. If Ryley can't make use of it, then at least someone will be able to, at least someone will be able to start again.

He doesn't want to think about what kind of a life that will be, back in Federation space after a decade on this planet. How disorienting it would be, how alien. It's only been two months for Ryley, and already his past feels like it belongs to another person. How could he go back to Alterra-regulated learning, Alterra-regulated employment, Alterra-regulated thinking after being here?

How could anything ever be the same again, after this place?

"I'm sorry," Ryley whispers, and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall. "For leaving you alone again."

Without either of their PDAs, there's no way for Bart to reply with words. Instead, he lets go of Ryley's hand only to pull him into a hug instead, one that speaks volumes of his loss, his loneliness; of the crash and losing his father and years, _years_ of isolation. Of finding someone, and of losing them again.

Ryley clings to him, trying to force tears back but his eyes hot and prickly nonetheless. For all his talk of connecting with his bunk mates back on the Aurora, he's felt adrift for too long. He's been trying to extract some scrap of meaning from a life dictated down to his very thoughts by Alterra, been trying to find significance in a system that's taught him since he could understand words that he's just a part of a machine.

Bart, with his eyes wide open to everything the planet has brought him; perceptive, brilliant Bart is someone who could see him as himself. As Ryley, not as _non-essential systems maintenance chief_ , not as _Alterra citizen_ , not as _Aurora survivor_. As Ryley.

Maybe he doesn't. Maybe Bart sees him as an end to a means, a way to reach Her, someone to fill the void in his life since his father's death, since the Degasi's crash.

But it's enough, for now.

It's quiet, now. They're tangled together in the glass room, the ghost rays gliding as silently as their namesakes in the cove. There's the faint hum from the base itself, and Ryley's own ragged, laboured breathing; there are bioluminescent splashes of blues and pinks from the trees, cyans from the rays, gold from Bart, painting their skin.

As strange, and as lovely, and as fragile as a spider web.

Silently, Bart detangles himself and helps Ryley up, half leading him, half supporting him back to the bed. Ryley goes quietly, too worn down from illness and fear. They slide back into bed, curl up again; Bart presses a kiss into Ryley's hair.

"I'm sorry," Ryley whispers again, and this time, he sleeps.

 

Ryley clings to the beacon like a lifeline with one hand and yanks the Prawn suit hard to the right with the other.

If he were religious, if he believed in the concept of hell, then this place would be it. It's a vast lava lake, only a few rocky outcrops breaking its surface and magma washing over the edges of the cavern he's precariously navigating; at the far end is the alien facility, a black and green monolith painted red by the molten glow.

The lava is one thing. The enormous tentacled leviathan spitting magma at him is quite another.

Another alarm shrieks; part of the exterior casing on one of the Prawn suit's legs has melted clean away, exposing wiring and circuitry to the scalding water. The climate control is failing; sweat drips off Ryley's face and stings his eyes as the heat grows and grows, and the water outside is hotter still.

Never mind the reinforcements on his dive suit. The water outside is hot enough to burn.

Hitting the jump jets again, Ryley aims himself at one of the nearer rock islands. He's near enough to the entrance to see the way it shimmers, knows there's safety there, but the leviathan seems singularly determined not to let him reach it - and if that doesn't work, he's spotted a few telltale blue flashes of warpers in the area.

He's glad Bart isn't here. He's glad Bart is safe. He doesn't let go of the beacon anyway.

Molten pebbles rain upon the suit. Ryley hits the jets again, but something is wrong, something is damaged from that last volley; the suit falls short, its legs sinking into the lava lake. Ryley can feel the heat radiating up and yanks his feet up on the seat, already pressing one hand against the reinforced glass.

He's close enough. He'll have to swim for it, or sink into the lava lake.

"Thanks," he rasps to the suit.

Beacon in hand, seaglide in the other, tool belt with its precious tablets still tight around his waist, Ryley pushes out into the water. Almost instantly, he can feel his skin starting to burn; he stifles a scream and launches himself towards the entrance, kicking furiously even as the seaglide drags him forward, and the leviathan is rearing back for another volley of magma -

Ryley hits the entrance, falls hard, and rolls. Dropping the seaglide, he forces his burning legs towards the forcefield control and slams down the tablet; the molten projectiles barely miss his heels as he launches himself up the ramp, runs until he can run no further, and then he crumples in a heap.

Everything hurts, _everything_. The suit has saved him from burning to death, but it's damaged and he's shaking and gasping in pain, blood splattered against the lower half of the rebreather. There's an angry line of agony where the suit meets the breather, where the reinforcement isn't quite perfect; he feels like he's been beheaded and then head stuck back on clumsily.

He's still holding the beacon, the precious beacon Bart had pressed into his hands before he had left, making him promise to activate it should he find safe passage through a warp gate. His lifeline, his only connection in this place, in this hell.

He keeps going.

There are ion cubes; he ignores them. There are cases holding objects that he'd otherwise find fascinating; he walks past. There are rooms, at least six rooms off to the sides and one behind him. He walks past every single one and presses the second blue tablet against the controls, watches with dull, pained eyes as the last forcefield flickers and disappears.

He can almost hear her.

It's an aquarium, inside. When Ryley slips into the water, he just manages to catch sight of the fish, the plants, before the entire platform he's treading water above tips and he turns to find _Her_.

He can understand, now, why Bart refers to Her with capital letters. The few instances of mental contact had been powerful; now it's almost overwhelming, his head so full of Her that there's barely room left for himself. He can feel himself growing calm, reassured; _everything will be okay_.

Is it Her own calmness, her own acceptance of Her fate that he's feeling? Or are his feelings his own? He's not sure any more, not sure where he ends and She begins.

_Are you here... to play?_

The aquarium is beautiful. Predators swimming peacefully with prey, an explosion of biodiversity he hasn't seen anywhere else in the plant. Plants, animals, corals.

_Others came here once. They built these walls. They played... alone. They bored me. Now they're gone. And instead... we have you._

She slips into the water, starts circling the aquarium. Her prison, vast to a human but unacceptably small to someone as vast as Her. In Her slipstream, he feels tiny.

_We are curious whether you swim with the current, or fight against it as they did._

He could almost laugh, being carried along in Her wake.

He could rest here. Let his eyes close, let himself drift. Let his oxygen slowly run out, let himself fall asleep.

It would be peaceful.

It wouldn't be right.

Ryley forces his eyes open. He can feel his attention pulled downwards, like there's a tether drawing him to the right place; he knows that it's been the focus of Her attentions for over a thousand years and through it, his too.

_My young want to hatch, to play outside this place. We have been here so long,_ She whispers in his mind as he lands gently in the sand in front of the eggs, each almost as large as he is. _The others built a passage to reach the world outside. I asked them for this freedom, but they could not hear me._

He can hear Her. He can hear Her now, hear Her call for freedom. He knows how She feels about the others, the ones who needed to use Her so desperately; Her longing to help, Her sorrow at their inability to hear, Her loneliness.

She's been so lonely. Ryley has been alone for two months, Bart for eight years.

She has been alone for a millennium.

_If you help us, I will give you freely what others tried in vain to take,_ She whispers as Ryley reaches out to touch one of the eggs, and he nods, and gets to work.

He opens the gate.

She gives him the requirements.

He swims through, and up, and on to the beach, and laughs when he sees where he is. This is where it began and where it'll end, gazing up at an alien sky and hoping, hoping that help is on its way.

If not for him, then for Her.

There's no strength left in him. Ryley crumples to the sand, activates the beacon, and pulls out his PDA for one last message.

**Bart,**

**There's a portal in the water about 60m beneath the moonpool that leads straight to Her containment tank. It's now open, but you'll need plants for the enzymes to help Her children hatch. I've attached the database entries for the ones I know, and the other is in the tank.**

**You were right, we do need to do everything we can to help Her and Her children. I've opened a way for you now. It's all up to you.**

**Thank you for helping me, too. I'm sorry I couldn't hold out longer.**

**Love,**

**Ryley**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description of injuries in this chapter.

It's so quiet.

Bart is alone, just him and his thoughts.

Just him and the pack of provisions and supplies he has waiting and ready to go, everything they could possibly need for any sort of situation. He's been a humming cord of nervous energy since Ryley had left; manic preparation for any kind of disaster is all he _can_ do. Prepare, and then pace, worry, check his PDA again and again to see if the beacon has been activated.

A pop shelter and sleeping bags from the fabricator. Med kits, water, food. His enzyme medicine, both in an inhaler and as a gel. Batteries, a fire starter; a flashlight and lamp, a spare knife. Rope, and a grapple at the end. Heating gel for the cold, instant ice packs and salves for burns and heat stroke (he has a lot of those). A small spare oxygen tank. An unfoldable waterproof bag to put them all in.

There are some things he can't prepare for. He doesn't have a kit for getting into the lava zones. There's no equipment he can get in case Ryley dies down there.

All he can do is sit and fret, pace and worry, wait and wait and wait.

When the alert does come, he startles awake so violently he nearly drops the PDA, instantaneously feeling a wash of self-loathing at himself for falling asleep and almost as instantly having that self-loathing flooded away with a spike of anxiety. Bart yanks the cloak over himself, slings the strap of the bag over his shoulder, and plunges out into the water, already bringing up the beacon navigator.

Sixteen hundred and twenty-four metres, about half an hour of steady swimming, almost but not quite northeast. The mountain island, then. Bart sets his jaw, and swims.

It's dusk when he leaves the river. Night falls quickly here, and it's mostly by guidance of the beacon light flashing on his PDA that he makes it to the vicinity of the island; he suspects even the reapers know that he's not to be trifled with at the moment.

He sees the warp gate, yes. It's not where the beacon is coming from. He keeps swimming up until he emerges on to the beach, stumbling at the sudden transition from water to dry land; already he's scanning the sand for Ryley.

He knows he's going to be here. It still doesn't stop his heart skipping in his chest when he sees the motionless shape, beacon blinking cheerily, PDA glow illuminating loosely-curled fingers.

_Don't you_ dare _be dead, you absolute bastard!_

Bart sprints to him, then drops to his side, reaching almost tentatively for the rebreather. There's blood on it, a fine aerosol spray, and beneath it a furious line of burns where it meets with the reinforced dive suit.

Ryley whimpers in pain, and Bart feels his heart start beating again.

The world can wait. Bart sets up the lamp first to cast a cozy pool of light in the sand, digging for the burn salve and applying it (carefully, so carefully) to the line of burns across Ryley's throat, as gentle as he can. Even this gets another pained sound, breathless and ragged; Bart winces but keeps going.

He needs somewhere safe to set up camp. If they stay here, on the beach, then there'll be no help for Her or Her children; if he takes Ryley back through the portal, then he might not find somewhere secure to let him rest and recover. For a moment, Bart wavers, glancing at the note on the PDA, back at Ryley, back at the note.

Ryley wants him to help Her.

It's been a very long time since Bart has prayed. He had seen the Alterra-written profile of the MIS in the data Ryley had transferred across, yes, and had laughed at their interpretation of Mongolian religious views; now, he prays.

_If there is any sort of higher power, if you have any sort of ability to intervene, then please, please, please, let him survive._

Delicately, he replaces the rebreather, makes sure it clicks into place and that the oxygen is flowing. Packs up the med kit and lamp, seals the bag again, settles the strap across his body. Bart bites his lip, then reaches for Ryley to try and carry him to the water.

It's not easy. Ryley is a couple of inches shorter than Bart is, but he's sturdier across the shoulders, built in a way that not even two months of progressive illness can erase. In the end, he almost has to drag him back to the shoreline, into the water.

The buoyancy helps. Ryley is draped over him like his cloak, Bart holding his wrists in front of him; he can just manage to control his movement through the water. He's thankful for the quiet of the night, for the lack of reapers or warpers.

The warp gate is sending a green ghost glow through the water. Bart tightens his grip on Ryley's wrists, then launches himself into the aperture.

He can feel Her now, even before he's fully arrived on the other side. Automatically, tears are prickling in his eyes; he feels adrift and connected to something bigger than him at the same time, a heady rush of complicated emotion and thought that he isn't entirely sure is his own.

_Relief-wonder-curiosity-sadness-worry-fear-loneliness-acceptance-gratitude-joy -_

She doesn't smile like a human does, but he can still feel Her reach out to him.

_Please,_ he mentally whispers, _My friend..._

A nod of Her immense head. _There is dry land above, built by the others. You may care for your friend there. We are hoping he will wake up and come to play with the children._

He gives her a strained smile. _Yeah. Me too._

There's space to set up here, at least, and Bart gets to work immediately, setting up the pop shelter and a sleeping bag. Using his cloak to help pull Ryley over to it, Bart strips him of the rebreather and air tank, gloves and fins; hesitates, then unfastens the dive suit and carefully, carefully starts to peel it away.

It hurts. He knows it must, because Ryley groans fitfully, eyelids flickering before beginning to open, his eyes glazed but aware.

They fix on Bart. Blink confusedly.

"Not dead?" he whispers raggedly, and Bart almost laughs, delight and joy fizzing in his chest like soda water.

"Not dead," he mouths back, kisses him impulsively, and goes back to his task of undressing him.

There's nothing even remotely suggestive about this. Ryley is too hurt, too sick for Bart to see him like that, like a potential sexual partner; his skin is a tapestry of bruises, heat burns where the reinforcement wasn't quite enough, of the blisters from the illness he's _still_ dying from. Ryley's unsteady breath against his skin isn't an enticement, it's an indication of his progressively destroyed lungs; the heat of his body is from fever, not arousal.

Bart treats the worst of his injuries, has him breathe in the enzyme, drink some water. Then, when he's ready and Ryley is dozing fitfully in the sleeping bag, he presses another kiss (reassurance, care, contact) into his hair and slips back into the water.

She's beautiful. Bart gazes up at Her and feels Her gaze back at him, feels the warmth and affection radiating off Her like radiation.

_My friend is dying._

She nods, just once. _I am not strong enough to help. My young... may be. The others sought this from me. It may be them that give it to you. When my young hatch, we will try to help your friend._

Bart's heart flips painfully in his chest. _Okay. The plants?_

Images and locations, flickering into his mind. The requirements from each. Sap, seeds, spores; the delicate mix of gases and microorganisms held within a filmy confinement. He nods once and starts for the warp, then turns back.

_Please,_ he starts clumsily, _Look after him. Tell him... tell him that he's safe. That I'll be back soon. That we're going to save him._

He feels Her affirmation like an embrace, so he turns, and heads back into the night.

He has to move fast. Knows, at least, that most of the plants needed grow close together, knows that he can collect the glowing orbs from the eye stalk at the same time that he cuts into a bulb plant for its sticky, life-giving sap. He knows that the ghost weed grows all through the river corridor closest to the island and that its seeds are easily shaken loose, knows that the path back to the island will take him close to the mushroom forest and its spore-laden boughs.

All of these things, Bart gathers together in his bag (now emptied; he has his knife in one hand and flashlight in the other), and then turns back to the island and swims like his life depends on it.

(It doesn't. Ryley's life, though...)

Nothing else matters any more. Bart cuts through the dark ocean to the island, gaze fixed on the portal, the world shrinking to just that point. To Ryley, to Her, to the eggs he's going to help hatch. Failure isn't an option, not at this point.

The column of water illuminated by the flashlight is, abruptly, shadowed. Bart has no time to react before the beam is shining on a set of very large, very sharp teeth; the reaper opens its mouth to screech and suddenly he's staring down the void of a reaper leviathan's throat.

Fleetingly, he wonders how many beings have seen this as their last view.

He's luckier than most. To a reaper, Bart is tiny; when the teeth close around his ankle, it's small enough to fit between the gaps in its teeth without being cut clean through. Still, a silent scream tears from his throat, feeling sharp edges slice through skin and muscle; the reaper jerks its massive head and Bart is flung through the water unceremoniously.

But he's had a very long day. There are lives, multiple lives, depending on him. If he dies here, literal metres from his goal, if he fails now, then Ryley dies. The eggs never hatch. She will wait and wait and never learn what happened to him.

He can't pull free, not without turning his foot into mince. But Bart has a knife, and as soon as he's close enough, he plunges it into one of the reaper's lower eyes.

It screams, a shrieking cacophony that makes his ears ring and his head instantly pulse with pain. But he still jerks his foot free and then pushes off from the reaper's face with his other foot, using the boost in speed and momentum to go barrelling for the warp. The reaper twists, recovers, and lunges again, and -

Bart slips through the gate.

He practically falls through on the other side, a ribbon of blood curling from his ankle through the water. Instantly, he feels Her attention on him, her worry; wordlessly, he sets the bundle of plants down before the eggs and swims down into the lowest parts of the tank for the last one.

He doesn't have his knife any more, it's been left as a permanent souvenir in the reaper's eye. Carefully, so carefully, Bart detaches the plant's holdfasts from the rock it's clinging to, taking the utmost care not to puncture the delicate membrane.

It comes free. Bart trails it behind him like a strange balloon, delivers it to Her.

He can feel warmth, satisfaction, reassurance; he doesn't know who they're from and doesn't care. He's done his job. The eggs can hatch, now.

_Go and care for yourself and your friend, then bring him here,_ She murmurs to him. _It is time for my children to wake._

Ryley is still sleeping when Bart drags himself from the water, limping to the pop shelter. Still breathing, but it's pained, full of effort; he stirs slightly when Bart settles heavily beside him and starts to clean and wrap his ankle.

The brush of Ryley's fingertips against Bart's knee is the sweetest thing he's ever felt.

Bart doesn't often resent his inability to speak. His lungs are ruined, but he can still breathe; he has no one else who needs him to raise his voice. Now, though, he finds himself worrying at his lip in frustration as he gestures at the rebreather and air tank, offers Ryley his cloak to protect his modesty if the dive suit is too painful to pull back on.

_You're going to be okay. I have all the plants. You just need to come back into the water, the eggs are hatching, She knows how to cure you..._

But maybe Ryley still understands. There's not much strength in him left, but together, he and Bart make it to the edge of the water, manage to dive down, drawn like iron to a magnet to where She waits.

_My children are emerging,_ She whispers. One tentacle is wrapped loosely around the incubator base protectively, another, now, comes up to support Ryley; he sags against her gratefully and closes his eyes.

He can't help it. Bart draws closer to one of the eggs, lays his hand on it; a piece cracks open beneath his palm and a tiny tentacle pokes out cautiously, a little dark eye peering out from behind it from the safety of the shell.

_Hi,_ Bart whispers to them mentally, a delicate soap bubble of emotion filling his ribcage. _Welcome to being alive. Oh, aren't you the most darling little thing?_

He feels huge, overwhelmed. For as long as he's known Her, She has spoken of seeing Her children; now they are finally here, finally beginning their lives. She doesn't answer with words, but the enormity of Her love is filling the aquarium, leaving Bart effervescent with joy and the children starting to squirm and emerge out into the world.

The little one whose egg he touched appears to be fascinated by him. It lingers when the others swim straight for their parent, patting at his face and hands with its little limbs; Bart lets it tangle its tentacles around his arm and, beaming, guides the newborn to Her.

Ryley is limp in Her embrace.

_He is fighting,_ She whispers as his smile drops, the little one sensing his distress and detaching to burrow against their parent. _I do not know if he will win. We can try._

One of the infants has hiccuped something up, something recognisable; Bart glances down at his own hands and finds the same gold running through his veins, the same gold as the enzyme the peepers carry. When he reaches for it, his hands are trembling; he entwines his fingers with Ryley's and presses their palms together around the little gold bubble -

Hopes, and hopes, and hopes -


	9. Chapter 9

Ryley drifts.

There are moments of lucidity. Awareness in bits and pieces. His rebreather being removed. Bart leaning over him. Her voice in his head, telling him that he's safe; Bart helping him into the water.

He remembers being moved into a proper bed in a proper multi purpose room, unpowered but an open hatch letting cool air circulate in over his fevered skin. Bart helping him sip at a bottle of water, changing the bandages on the worst of his burns.

There's pain in there. Pain and fever, coughing until his throat is bleeding and the world tips beneath him, Bart's hand stroking down his bare back to soothe the hurt away. Tossing and turning in his sleep, Bart holding on to his hands so he doesn't scratch open the blisters, even the light pyjamas Bart has printed for him burning against his skin. Medicine, more like the enzyme from the peepers but purer, more concentrated.

And then, quite suddenly, he wakes up to find himself able to breathe clearly for the first time in weeks.

Ryley rubs his eyes, yawns widely enough to make his jaw click, and pushes himself up. It _is_ a multi purpose room, one very much like the one at Bart's base, save for the addition of a rumpled single bed. Bart sits there, going through his PDA; he flies up when he catches the movement and a smile spreads across his face.

 **How are you feeling?** he asks through the PDA, pushing it into Ryley's hands and scrambling on to the end of the bed, and Ryley smiles back tentatively.

"Okay, I think. I can breathe better." He breathes in carefully, doesn't cough, only tickles his throat a little. "Does this mean I'm cured?"

Bart retrieves the PDA, shows Ryley a quick, **Going to type a long thing, drink some water!** , exhales, and dives in.

Obediently, Ryley nods, finding a bottle by the side of his bed. He sips at it carefully, then, when that doesn't make him gag, downs most of the whole thing; he feels famished.

"Bart? I'm starving."

Glancing up from his PDA, Bart gives him a wide grin and a thumbs up, jumping up to rummage through a storage box. Withdrawing another bottle and a nutrient bar, he offers them to Ryley, then goes back to his writing.

Admittedly, the first solid food he's eaten in days feels like it's settling in his stomach like cement. He pushes past it, finishing it off and licking his fingers clean; at this point, he notices that the blisters on his hands are looking distinctly... smaller. More faded, not as irritated. Healing, finally.

Bart finally finishes his writing and offers Ryley the PDA; Ryley sits back and starts to read.

**Okay, time for exposition! :-p**

**1) You're cured! You're still recovering, since you had pneumonia, a 41 degree fever, and burns, but you're getting better every day. I've been using the scanner to monitor your bacterial count and it keeps decreasing.**

**2) Her name is the Sea Emperor. The babies have hatched and they were able to produce a strong form of the enzyme the peepers have been transporting. It's actually quite remarkable! She's been able to train the peepers to use the ventilation system in this tank - that's where those vents come from. The peepers have been able to carry an unstable, weakened version of the enzyme through the ocean. That's how we BOTH managed to survive!**

**3) Yes, we're still in the PCF. I built a little base right near Her pool.**

**4) Don't use the warp that goes to the mountain island. There may or may not be an angry reaper with a knife in its eye hanging around there. :-S**

(Ryley raises his head and gives Bart a moderately despairing look; Bart only shrugs sheepishly.)

**It's okay, though, there are four other rooms in the base that also have warp gates! I've checked them out. One goes to the river not far from home, one to the mushroom forest, one to the bulb zone, and one to the sparse reef. The plan is to take the babies out through the other warps so they can spread the enzyme through the rest of the ocean.**

**5) There are some really cool artefacts here!!! (And some slightly concerning ones, it looks like they visited 13th century Earth??)**

**6) When you're feeling better, there's one more egg that they took away, may or may not be viable. There's also a fetus they had experimented on :-( She wants us to bring the little one back so she can bury it properly, and see if the egg will survive.**

**Whew! Done! I'm glad you're feeling better! :-D**

It's a lot of information, all at once. Ryley sets down the PDA and blinks slowly at it, then back up at Bart.

"A reaper with a knife in its eye?" he echoes incredulously.

Bart still looks sheepish, waving a hand at his bandaged ankle. **Had a little encounter. I'm ok though :-p**

Ryley remembers the huge magma-spitting leviathan he had crossed paths with and grimaces. "If you say so. I'm just glad you're okay."

Bart reaches out to squeeze his hand reassuringly, giving Ryley a thumbs up with his other hand. Ryley squeezes back. He knows that there are dangers out there; also knows that he and Bart are both survivors, that Bart has survived longer than he has and has faced things Ryley has no concept of.

Still, the thought of him facing danger like that, facing the unbridled aggression and violence and extremely large teeth of a reaper... it's unsettled him. He doesn't want to lose him, not after everything they've been through, everything they've survived. He hasn't let go of Bart's hand yet.

"How come you got a separate bed?" he finds himself asking instead.

Bart doesn't withdraw his hand, instead tapping at the PDA one-handed; the message is, correspondingly, short. **Wanted to give u space. Also u kicked :-p**

He grimaces. "Sorry. Um..." With his free hand, he runs a hand through his hair. "If you want to go back to sharing, I don't mind."

The smile that crosses Bart's face is all the answer he needs.

He doesn't venture out straight away. Better as he's feeling, he's still in the process of healing, not just from the bacteria but also from everything he's pushed his body through since arriving. A part of him feels a pang of guilt at still being so dependent, at needing Bart so much; another part, smaller and a little quieter, has to admit that it's rather nice being cared for, after all.

Bart does move back to sharing a bed, though, and they both seem to sleep the better for it. Perhaps he should worry about being unable to sleep unless he's curled up against the warmth of another body, but waking up with Bart's arm around him or carding his fingers through Ryley's hair, golden glow reassuring in its steadiness, is too nice to want to give up.

He doesn't know what they are, right now. It doesn't matter. Bart is important to him, he knows that. He's important to Bart, he's fairly sure of that too. What they have is something that makes him happy, and that, right now, is all he needs.

When he can walk across the room and back without stumbling, he dons his gear again (the reinforced diving suit looking rather worse for wear) and they slip into the water. The Sea Emperor is waiting for them, and so are the children; one latches on to Bart's arm excitedly, another headbutts Ryley curiously.

He can feel Her affection for the children, Her pride; automatically, he smiles.

 _My young are growing strong,_ She murmurs, _As you grow strong, too. Soon, it will be time for them to leave this place and be free._

 _What about you?_ comes Bart's mental voice, and Ryley starts to hear it, realises that it must be Her influence to able to communicate like this. _You deserve freedom as well!_

A gentle decline. _Their freedom is my end. I have lived far too long already._ She doesn't smile physically, but Ryley can feel it, like sunshine spreading down his spine. _What will it be like, I wonder, to go to sleep and never wake up? Perhaps when we next meet I will be an ocean current, carrying seeds to a new land, or a creature so small it sees the gaps between a grain of sand._

"I'm sorry," Ryley whispers.

Simply, wordlessly, She radiates acceptance. Joy, even. Slowly, Ryley nods; closes his eyes and tries to cling to that acceptance.

They work together, he and Bart, and return the fetus and the egg to the aquarium. The Emperor brushes away sand and rock until She's made a hole just big enough for the little one's body; She's silent, thoughtful, almost contemplative as She covers it in sand. Its death may have been a thousand years earlier, but this is still Her child She buries, a child She's lost.

The egg, though. The egg is still and quiet as Ryley and Bart transport it back to the water, but within an hour, it's moving again, ever so faintly. In their little base on the water's edge, they wait breathlessly for updates, watches the other five curiously examining their sibling's egg, the parent waiting and watching and waiting.

When the time comes, Ryley doesn't even bother with the dive suit, simply strapping on his air tank and rebreather and diving in still in his pyjama pants, following Bart deeper into the water. He's grinning, can already feel the magnified joy from the little family; Bart glances back and shares a smile with him.

It doesn't quite go seamlessly; the little one seems to be struggling to push the mostly broken egg fragments apart, and Ryley itches to help it, pull the egg open and let it go free into the world. There's a mental nudge and he lifts his head; the Emperor gazes at him and nods once.

Ryley exhales into the rebreather, then reaches out to pull the fragment free.

It helps; the last little one pushes out a few tiny tentacles, and then a small arm and head, blinking at the comparative brightness of the outside world. Its gaze fixes on Ryley and that seems to give it the motivation it needs, pulling itself free and curling into his arms.

Ryley blinks, arms suddenly full of newborn leviathan.

Bart's amusement washes through the strange telepathic link they share in Her proximity. _I think it's imprinted on you,_ he points out, smiling; Ryley glances back, sees one of the other young ones curled up on Bart's lap with its tentacles clinging to his arm, and laughs.

It's not immediate, the end. The infant has hatched days later than their siblings and needs to grow stronger. Still, though, there's a sense of finality, with the six of them surrounding their parent, learning to swim, to survive, to produce the life-saving enzyme. They grow, and as they grow, Ryley gets stronger and healthier by the day.

("Performing self-scan. Bacterial count negligible. Pulmonary function has improved to eighty-four percent of original capacity. Vital signs otherwise normal.")

He's not fully cured. He still coughs sometimes, still gets breathless more easily. Bart has hypotheses, that his lungs may be permanently scarred by the infection, that it may be impossible to permanently and entirely recover from such a devastating infection.

The fact that Bart has been able to share this information while coughing himself is another minor revelation.

When Bart had recovered from the infection, the bacteria had remained dormant in him, his lungs still damaged enough that he would have died if not for one of the other mutations. Now, slowly, his scarred lungs are starting to heal - just enough for a sigh, or a cough, or a huffed laugh.

"Ryley?"

Or a whisper.

It's barely audible. It's a breath of air shaped by Bart's mouth and lips, barely a spoken word at all. But it's enough for Ryley to jerk upright in surprise, eyes wide and astonished and Bart a mirror image of his own expression.

"You made a sound!"

Bart tries to speak again, but only manages a cough; his eyes flash in frustration. Ryley reaches for his hand and holds it tight between both of his own, massages the skin with his thumbs.

"Don't rush it," he says quietly. "You haven't spoken in like a decade. You'll get there, I promise. Maybe you won't be yodelling or singing opera or something -" Bart laughs again, just a huff of air - "But you'll get there."

They'll get there, both of them.

When it's eventually time to go, they take the babies with them one by one to their new homes. One to the mushroom forest, another to the bulb zone. Two to the sparse reef, hatch mates who refuse to be parted.

The last two, the one Bart helped to hatch and the one Ryley helped, will come with them to the river (given how tightly and stubbornly the infant clings on to Ryley, little chin resting on his shoulder, he's not sure they have much say in the matter).

Bart is reluctant to leave. He disappears into the pool for hours, sitting quietly with the Emperor; if they're communicating, then Ryley can't hear it. He gives them the space. It's been years for them, years of only the most distant communication their mutual connection to other sapient beings.

Bart resurfaces and smiles tiredly. Ryley nods and follows him in to say goodbye.

She won't be alone, he whispers to Bart afterwards, his turn to rub soothing circles on Bart's back, to support him through his grief. She has her little one; she passed knowing that her children were alive and would be cared for. The children in question are quiet, not quite understanding what's happened but knowing that something has been changed; Ryley and Bart too help support them as well.

They pick up their belongings. Take the little ones to the warp that leads back to the river, go home. The little leviathans settle in to the cove; Ryley and Bart return to the quiet base and don't speak, don't think about whatever is meant to come next.

The first night back in the cove, Ryley dreams.

He's floating, gazing up at the surface of the water above him, drifting in the current. Only he's on the other side of the surface, floating on air, gazing up at the ocean; above him, fish dart between bright corals, seaweeds sway, distant calls echo through the water.

It's calm. Still. Ryley is smiling as he raises a hand up to the ocean and lets his fingers dip into the water, letting the coolness curl around them.

There's warmth behind him, a chin on his shoulder, a pair of arms around his waist. Ryley pulls his hand down from the water to rest it on one of the hands embracing him.

Finds bone, instead.

Skeleton hands, skeleton arms, pulling at him, holding him back from the ocean and its gentle reef; digging into his flesh, tearing at him. He can't scream, can't even breathe; the waters above him are turning murky with the smoke that's starting to swirl through the air, arms clad in Aurora support crew uniforms pulling him back into the smoke and flames; but there's water rising here, filthy water, water polluted with ash and blood and bodies, and it laps past his chin just as he opens his mouth to scream -

There's a thousand metres of water between him and the open air. Ryley stares up at the ceiling of the multi purpose room, not burning, not drowning, waiting for his racing heart to calm, then he turns to Bart and nudges him awake.

"I need to see the sky," he says, and his voice cracks.

Bart takes one look at him, then nods.

He's strong enough to make the swim with a new Seaglide now (it isn't as if he has much choice, either, lacking the Seamoth). Bart swims by his side as they wind through the river, out into the reef; Bart only glances back once in the direction of his former home as they rise, keep rising to the island.

It's day when they arrive, and the island is steamy with humidity. Ryley slumps down on the beach and stares up into the blue sky, Bart hesitating at his side before crouching and whispering, awkwardly, if Ryley will be okay on his own while he runs an errand.

Ryley nods, too caught up in the sky. Nodding as well, Bart drops a kiss on his cheek then dives back smoothly into the water, his glow slowly fading as he disappears into the depths.

He knows what the dream means, that much is clear. Yearning for the ocean, but still caught by the Aurora; still held captive by the memory of fire. A part of him is still there, he knows; a part of him died that day along with his cabin mates, drowning or burning or suffocating along with them.

One hundred and fifty-seven crew and passengers.

Twenty-five lifepods launched.

Ten lifepods landed.

One survivor.

Ryley gazes out at the ocean, at the sky. Feels the breeze easing the humidity, the smell of salt and vegetation mingling. Digs his fingers into the sand; knows that beneath it lies another universe.

He can go home. Turn off the quarantine, build the rocket with the plans Alterra had sent him, leave the planet. Go back to Alterra space and... what, then?

Spend the rest of his life paying off his debt, or worse, end up in a lab while they try to work out how he survived? Watch as Alterra descends upon the planet like a pack of vultures, tearing up the sea floor for lithium and diamonds, for the life-giving enzyme from the babies?

He knows what he has to do. Knows what the answer is, the only answer that he can accept, the only answer that his conscience will allow. Knows exactly what it means, what he'll be sacrificing.

Ryley lets out a choking sob that's half a laugh, buries his head in his arms, and lets himself mourn.


	10. Chapter 10

It's quiet in the deep reef.

Bart sits on the roof of the habitat, legs drawn up to his chest, watching jelly rays drift through the anchor pods. He has no artificial lights on him, nothing electronic save his PDA (in sleep mode), and the crabsquids are ignoring him; they seems to have finally decided the base has nothing more to offer them.

It's not just the marks of time, not just the rust, the starfish clinging to the titanium frame. The base has been torn open like a tin can. Reaper, perhaps, or the enormous beast Ryley had seen in the lava zones; something with sharp teeth and dreadful ripping claws.

His father and Marguerit had died here, almost certainly.

There's a little egg in his cupped hands. He had found it once and then had left it; now, it seems to slowly be waking up. Life, after death.

_It's been some time since I've been here. I'm sorry, father, I've been rather preoccupied with my own feelings._

Holding the egg, Bart sits on the roof of his former home, and starts a one-sided mental conversation.

_Things have changed a lot, you know. I found out more about the sickness. I thought I was going to die, but I didn't. I... changed. And then I waited for a very, very long time._

_I don't think you'd like Ryley very much, father. But that's okay. If I wasn't your son, I don't think you'd like me very much, either. Still, he saved me, and Her, and this whole planet. Surely that would have to count for something in your books?_

Bart shakes his head, lips stretched in a grim smile. Rubs a thumb over the egg.

 _Still, though... it can't last. I've been here for ten years, and... this place is my home now. I don't think I could go back. I don't fit into human society any more. I'm not even sure I_ am _human any more. Not now. I can't go back and pick up the threads of the company, and, really? I don't want to. I never did._

_Ryley, though. It's only been a few months for him. He has the means to go back to his old life, and when he does, we're going to have to say goodbye._

_I just... don't want to._

Sighing underwater is not the easiest. Bart pushes water out from his lungs, feels them cramp uncomfortably and lets it back in again.

_I'm pathetic, aren't I, father? Feeling miserable because I don't want to be left alone again. I won't be completely alone, of course. There's the babies to watch over. But She's gone, and soon he will be too, and -_

_I don't want to be alone again._

_If I go back, I won't be alone, would I? But I wouldn't be happy, either. How am I meant to decide between a world I've come to love, and a world with other people in it? A world with Ryley in it? I don't know if I've just latched on to him through loneliness like you'd probably suggest, father, or if there is something there, but -_

_I don't -_

_I don't want him to go -_

Bart makes a miserable little sound, dropping his head to his knees. It's an impossible situation. He can hardly throw himself at Ryley, beg and plead for him to stay; Ryley has only been away from the rest of the world for a matter of months and no doubt wants to return, and he's sure - he's sure that Ryley will ask him to come as well.

And Bart will have to say no. No to leaving the planet. No to rejoining the world. No to staying with him.

But he'd have the planet. He'd have the baby leviathans, newly born and needing guidance. He'd have his ocean, the river, the cove tree.

How is he meant to choose between one planet and the rest of the universe?

Eventually, he leaves, starts the slow swim back up to the island. They're going to have to talk at some point, he knows; he's glad he has the PDA to hide behind. Glad, for once, not to be betrayed by a shaky voice or a distressed expression. It's one remove, a separation; if Ryley is going to leave, then Bart will have to turn his heart to stone and let him go.

Ryley seems composed by the time Bart emerges, although there's telltale redness around his eyes that Bart deliberately doesn't draw attention to. When he sees Bart, a brief smile quirks his lips; he pats the sand beside him.

"What's that?" he asks, nodding to the egg.

Bart hands the egg to Ryley, hides a smile at him blinking at the little thing inside, and switches on his PDA. **I found it the last time I was here in a cave. I'm not sure what it is, but it's awfully cute!! :-D I think it's been dormant, but it seems to be coming back.**

Ryley glances at the words and nods, cooing at the hatchling. The egg membrane is soft and flexible but tough, and it sits lightly in Ryley's hands; Bart busies himself with digging a little hole in the sand and filling it with water so it doesn't dry out while they talk.

While they talk.

Bart exhales, then starts with the least-contentious question. **Are you ok?**

Reluctantly turning from where he's ensuring the egg won't roll away in its little hole, Ryley sighs as well, settling back down beside Bart. "I had a bad dream," he starts hesitantly, then shakes his head. "Ugh, that sounds pathetic. I had a dream, I know exactly what it means, I know what I have to do, and I'm just scared to admit it to myself."

Gazing out stubbornly at the ocean, Bart blindly reaches for Ryley's hand; Ryley clings to it like a lifeline.

"Because," he elaborates without being prompted, "It's not really... it's not a decision I can make lightly. Just the implications of it. I don't know. I _want_ to, and if I don't, if I do what I'm supposed to do, the consequences could be... bad. For everyone, including you."

Bart's brow furrows; Ryley glances at him swiftly and shakes his head. His eyes close, he lets his head fall back and laughs once, a sardonic sound.

"But how am I supposed to admit to myself that I want to stay here on a little rock in the furthest reaches of space instead of going back to Alterra?"

Bart blinks. Turns to stare at Ryley more properly, blinks again then gets out the PDA.

**??????????????????????**

Ryley huffs a laugh and scrubs his hands through his hair, spiking it up with his fingers, shaking his head. "I mean - I - I have the rocket blueprints. I guess the intention is to use them. But if I do, then that gives Alterra this place. They'll come here, turn the sea floor into a mine. The babies - they'll use them for the enzyme." His voice cracks. "And I don't _want_ to. To go back to Alterra and just become a - a piece of the machine, doing what they tell me to do, thinking what they tell me to think. Anyway, after this, they'd probably stick me in a lab or something."

He exhales, draws his knees up to his chest, buries his face in his arm. When he next speaks, it's in a mumble; Bart nudges him questioningly.

Sighing, Ryley lifts his head again. "I said - I don't want to leave this planet," he repeats softly, "And I don't want to leave you."

It's like slipping into smooth, cool water on a hot day. A balm, soothing his skin, letting his heartbeat return to normal. Fresh air after smoke and dust.

Very carefully (because his hand is shaking), Bart taps out a message.

**Can I kiss you?**

Ryley lets out a helpless, bubbling laugh and nods wordlessly, and Bart smiles in a terrified sort of way, leans in, and presses their lips together.

It's not much of a kiss - just a push of dry lips together, close-mouthed, brief. Still, Bart feels like a wave has just caught him unawares; he licks his lips as he draws back, tastes salt, and laughs at the sea foam fizz in his chest.

Ryley laughs again and shoves a hand through his hair. "Um, I have to ask. That time we were talking, and I told you about - about the Aurora." (Bart can feel himself growing warm, remembering exactly what conversation that had been.) "About my bunk mates. You asked me something, and I said yes, and - you kissed me then and mouthed something, and I think it was, 'When you're better'. Was it? Oh - you're glowing."

He nods sheepishly, glad for once for his constrained voice and burying himself in his PDA. **It was. If you've changed your mind, you don't have to if you don't want to.**

Glancing down at the words, Ryley nudges him with his shoulder. "I haven't changed my mind," he says, smiling crookedly; leans in for another kiss.

This one goes on for a little longer. Bart hasn't had a great deal of experience with kissing (his life before the crash had been so full of studying and working that he had missed a lot of opportunities, and after... well, that wasn't an option either), but Ryley is clearly pretty good at it and Bart feels a little dazed when they finally do part.

He finds his voice again. "What next?" he whispers, side by side with Ryley, shoulders and legs pressed together.

Ryley exhales, gazing out at the water. "I don't know. Aside from staying here with you, I haven't really made any long-term plans, y'know?"

Bart nods once and taps at the PDA again. **I was thinking it might be time to leave the river. I went there to hide, but I don't want or need to hide any more. We could make something that's both of ours. Maybe in the shallows. Sit in the sun :-)**

Because he had hidden. He had thought he was going to die and had ran from the sun, swum so far that sunlight was a memory. Now, though, he's sitting here in a golden afternoon with the sun on his skin and Ryley beside him; he doesn't want to keep hiding any more.

"That sounds nice," Ryley murmurs. "Also, I think we should find a way to make some sort of beacon. Just a warning to say not to approach because of the quarantine. I don't want any more... incidences like the Sunbeam."

**A long-range signal broadcast? That sounds plausible. I'm not sure we have all the technology, though.**

Ryley nods. "We could go back to the Aurora," he says quietly. "Its long-range communicators lasted long enough to get a message from HQ, I'm sure I could rig something just to broadcast system-wide. And..." He hesitates. "I didn't spend a lot of time there the first time, I was too preoccupied by stopping the leak and getting the blueprints. If there's anyone on the upper floors, I want to - make sure they get properly laid to rest. And I want to go to the crew quarters, see if I can find any mementos. It was my home for over a year."

Bart finds his hand and squeezes it. "I'll be with you."

Ryley exhales, turns to him and smiles like the sun. "Thank you," he says softly, and tilts his head to Bart's. Not a kiss, just simple contact, simple reassurance; _I'm here, and so are you._

Bart has been alone for so long. He's spent a lonely childhood and adolescence becoming what his father wanted him to be, and then years, years on his own, the only human in the world, his only contact being with a creature lonelier even than he.

But he's not any more. Now, he has Ryley. Now, he has the little leviathans. Now, he's found the balancing point between being what someone else wants him to be, lost in his own head while surrounded by a crowd of people who don't care who he is, and being completely, inescapably, alone.

He doesn't know what the future will bring. Doesn't know if they'll be able to eradicate the bacteria, or if there's any more to the ocean outside their little crater. If Alterra will somehow intervene, come looking for answers. He doesn't know if his voice will improve, or if they'll both continue to recover.

But whatever happens, they'll face it.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still an epilogue left, but that's the main story done!


	11. Epilogue

The sun is starting to sink into the ocean.

Ryley, tucked up in an armchair (handmade, not from the habitat builder; he and Bart are both attempting to make their own furniture and it's only moderately lumpy), scrolls to another page of the novel he's reading, courtesy of the Aurora library. He's only half paying attention, his attention drawn by Bart puttering around making something for dinner; there's already something that smells good on the stove.

Bart approaches now, and Ryley sets down the PDA expectantly; he lifts his head and gets a kiss for his trouble. "Kelp for the salad?" Bart whispers (even now, months later, it still strains his lungs to speak louder - but he's getting there, and they have their own shorthand, their own abbreviated phrasings, a language that's developing organically).

Ryley nods, and sets the PDA down.

He doesn't bother with the dive suit, the oxygen tank, or anything more than just his knife and a container for the creepvine. The kelp forest is close at hand and he's getting better at freediving anyway; living on an ocean planet means adapting to the environment.

Stepping out on to the sun-warmed deck, Ryley doesn't hesitate before diving in smoothly, startling a small school of boomerangs. From beneath the deck, the cuddlefish emerges, and Ryley pauses to give the little creature a tickle and a scritch before tapping their nose in the way they've taught to mean 'stay'.

They nuzzle his hand, then disappears back under the deck, going back to teasing one of the rabbit rays.

Ryley smiles to himself, surfaces to breathe, and starts for the forest. It's not far from the little home he and Bart have built in the reef and he sees the glow of the seed clusters within a minute. There's movement within it, and he ignores it; Ryley has started working on gaining the trust of the local stalkers.

_Ryley! Ryley, play?_

Ryley laughs, letting loose a stream of bubbles, as one of the leviathan babies - the littlest one, the one he thinks of as (more or less) his - zooms up from where they had been playing in the kelp. They bunt him gently and he mock-flails (they're bigger than he is, now), reaching up to rub between the antennae.

_Not right now, sweetpea. I've got to get some dinner, okay?_

The baby pouts, headbutting him again, slightly more insistently. _Play later?_

_I promise._

They perk up, swimming in a quick loop that reminds Ryley of the cuddlefish, then snuggles up to say goodbye. Ryley beams, feeling warm contentment filling his chest like a balloon.

_Okay! Bye bye! I love you!_

Nuzzling the top of the baby's head, Ryley smiles fondly. _Love you too, little one._

He really needs air. Kicking upwards, Ryley surfaces, eyes closed as he catches his breath before continuing on with his task.

Bart isn't in the room when he returns, setting the soggy container and his knife down on the counter. Curiously, Ryley scans the room, spots the door to their workspace open; he calls out, "I'm back!"

Almost immediately, Bart pops his head back out through the door, grins, and holds up a finger for Ryley to wait. Bemusedly, Ryley nods and returns his attention to the kelp, starts slicing off the tougher middle part and setting them aside to make more fibre, finely chopping the more tender, edible parts for the salad.

It takes a few minutes for Bart to return, one hand hidden behind his back and a mischievous smile on his face. "Made you something," he whispers when he's close enough, unable to keep the grin from widening, "Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

Well, call him intrigued. Ryley sets down the knife and does as Bart says, and feels the weight and coolness of something smooth and made of glass drop into his outstretched palm.

"Now open!"

It's a small glass container, lid held on with a line of silicone. Intrigued, Ryley pops it open and finds some kind of goo inside, pinkish-purple and faintly glowing. He pokes it; it's sticky.

In fact, it feels suspiciously like...

"Bart?" he says, voice almost cracking, "Did you make me hair gel?"

Bart's grin grows wider. "Go try it!"

He doesn't need to be told twice. Ryley makes a beeline for their room, where there's scissors and a mirror; his hair has grown on the shaggy side and he trims it back to an approximation of earlier, does not regret it as he snips out the last of the blue-green streaks from his hair.

The gel holds magnificently. A little softer than the commercial product he had used before, vaguely botanical-smelling (gel sack, he thinks, and creepvine seeds), just bioluminescent enough that he suspects he'd glow slightly in the dark.

Ryley stares at his reflection. He feels absurdly close to tears; delighted, relieved tears.

He can remember that first night down in the cove, of awkward conversations about potatoes and trees. His breakdown in the shower over hair gel; seeking out Bart to help fill in the loneliness and isolation, more crushing than the kilometre of water above his head.

_"I wanted..." Hair gel. To feel safe again. You, so I wouldn't be alone any more._

He had wanted. Hadn't expected to get any of them. Had ended up with all three.

Returning to the living room, grinning, he gestures to his hair. "What do you think?"

Bart gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up, and if he's noticed Ryley's overly bright eyes, he doesn't comment on it. Abandoning their dinner, he approaches, lightly running the tips of his fingers over the hairdo and nodding in approval.

Ryley steals a kiss, closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Bart's (only having to tilt his head up a little), arms around his waist. Bart's arms rise up too; they stay there for a moment, content and calm, at peace.

"Thank you," Ryley whispers, and tries to put every meaning into those two words.

_Thank you for the hair gel. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for being here._

Maybe Bart can hear the unspoken thanks, because he doesn't let go.

They both catch the whiff of something very slightly burning at the same time; breaking apart clumsily, Bart yelps and darts to the stove to rescue their dinner, giving Ryley a sheepish smile and shrug over the pot. Ryley laughs out loud and goes to help, getting out a spoon to start digging out the charred spots, his and Bart's heads knocking together as they both lean over the pot at the same time.

Laughter, dinner, hair gel. The setting sun makes the room glow luminously; his shoulder is warm where it's pressed against Bart's.

Ryley Robinson is having a pretty good day, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you to everyone who left such wonderful, encouraging reviews throughout the process! You're worth more than copper ore and hair gel!


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